Humanity
by LadyBonBon
Summary: It is within the boundaries of human nature that we, as a people, adapt to new enviorments. Change is inevitable. Acceptance, optional.
1. Prologue

Humanity: Prologue

_"And since there was __**no**__ justice, I __**created**__ justice…"_

"_Tell me more about__** Darwin!**__"_

_Sweet dreams are made of this…_

The only thing she could definitely say for sure was that she was hot. Oh, God, it was so hot. She could feel sweat dripping from various pores on her body. Could feel the moisture gathering in pools under her arms and in the crook of her neck. It was a gross, sickening feeling, unclean and disgusting. She had yet to open her eyes and absorb her surroundings. She didn't really think she _could_ open them. Why did her eyelids feel so heavy? She felt so tired, so very tired.

She took in a shaky breath; the hot air filled her lungs while expanding her chest out. She could feel the sweat trickle down her creased brow and slide down the side of her face where it combined with likeminded drops to form a puddle near her ear.

Why was it so hot? She felt as if her flesh was melting off her muscles and dripping onto the hard, metal table that she just registered she was lying on. The metal did not cool her exposed back. It was hot against the flesh it touched and seemed to gather the moisture from her body even more so in pools of salty sweat.

Now that she began to think, she realized that she was naked. She could feel no fabric around any part of her body, just the hot metal beneath her. She twitched and willed her eyes to squint open. Her vision was blurry at first. Shapes were fuzzy and melded together and colors blurred together in blobs of grey. A few scattered lights were placed in the corners of the room; all were very dim and gave the room an eerie feeling.

And God, it was so hot.

She wanted to sit up. She moved to sit up. But a pain erupted from her abdomen causing her to fall back down on the metal slab with a thud. Why did it hurt so badly? What was wrong? And _why_ was she so damn hot?

Taking a free hand, she moved it shakily over to her abdomen to find the source of her discomfort. Her hand shook while she guided it along until her shaking hand came across a stitch in her skin down near her pelvis. She ran her hand over the stitch and hissed at the pain it brought her. Moving her hand over, she felt another stitch. And then another and another. She followed the line of stitches that led across her abdomen and ended at her hip. As she became aware of the stitching on the lower half of her body, the pain began to flare up and her breaths became faster and faster. It was like someone had taken a wall stapler and jammed it into her skin over and over again making tiny train tracks embedded in the skin.

What was this? What had happened?

And why was it so _hot_!?

She brought her hands up to rest on her face and scrub at her tired eyes. Where was she? She began to think back and tried to recall everything, _anything_! A few images flashed before her eyes so quickly that she could only make out the images of large imposing darkened figures in her muddled memories. She remembered a man snarling at her._ Was it a man?_ The sharp edge of a knife, and then the red flash of blood entered her mind.

She wanted to sit up, she tried to sit up, but the pain was overwhelming. It cut through her lower body like a vicious chainsaw. Tearing up her innards with jagged, rusted teeth. Her breathing became erratic. And with each large breath she took, more pain erupted from the patch job that train tracked across her hips.

Was she hurt? She tried to remember if she had been wounded before, but her mind was a befuddled mess that she could only seem to recall large, imposing figures and a crazy man. She closed her eyes and tried to think harder. Nothing came to mind.

_Ms. Mona, Ms. Mona_…

Her eyes shot open and she stared into the harsh, bright light that was above her. She tried to sit up again. Using her arms to grab on either side of the metal slab, she pushed upwards so as to lift her upper body off of the hot metal. She ignored the wave of pain it sent throughout her body and gritted her teeth to forego releasing any sounds of discomfort. She could feel pools of sweat cascade down her naked back and settle on the metal table.

It was so hot…

Her arms shook a bit, but they remained strong as they held her up. She glanced around the room she found herself in. It was bare. Only full of empty shelves, the metal slab, and the lights lit dimly in the corners of the room. She focused on the shelves in front of her and found that, while they were bare, there was a jar settled upon one of them.

She licked her dry lips. "What is that?" The words were hardly intelligible as they came out dry and raspy, but there was no one around to answer her garbled speech so what did it matter? She cleared her throat and the sound seemed to echo around the room bouncing off blank walls and shooting back at her.

_Ms. Mona, Ms. Mona/She burned her man alive!_ What was that? Who was that? Mona? She tried to think, but the words kept bombarding her mind with a hateful tune that played over and over again. _Hadn't a care to play very fair! Too bad, he was a nice guy!_ She shook her head and tried to rid herself of the words and the dreadful humming tune that kept barraging her brain. She focused on getting off the table.

She gingerly swung one leg then the other to hang off the side of the table. The pain in her abdomen increased and she hissed at the searing feeling. With another deep breath she pushed herself off the table to land on her feet on the metal floor. The ground below her was warm, everything seemed to be warm. Why? While still gripping onto the table, she wobbled a bit as she made a move to walk. Her knees shook and her legs felt as if they were made of rubber with the way they swayed and buckled as she tried to get them to function properly.

Her hands helped her along, keeping balance while gripping the table, as she awkwardly walked over to the shelves that were bare except for that one jar. Sweat dripped from all places on her naked body as she continued to slowly make her way over to the jar.

It was as if it was calling out to her. Begging her to grasp it as it sung its siren's song, beckoning her ever forward but always seeming so far out of reach. Finally, the table ended and she was on her own to make it to the shelving and to the jar. She stumbled and fell to the floor with a loud thud. Pain erupted from her knees and seemed to meld together with the pain from her Raggedy Anne patch job and cause one big explosion that ran through her body.

This time she let out a screech and took in a sharp gust of air before moving her arms to grip at the counter that sat below the shelves. She pulled herself up with a strength she could hardly fathom and then tried to stand without falling. Sweat dripped from her chin and dropped onto the countertop forming a small pool. It was so hot…

She lifted her head and her eyes sought out the jar. It sat silently in front of her on the first shelf and she readily made a grab for it. The jar held some strange, yellow tinted liquid in it and she could also make out two small oval like things floating about. She scanned the jar and saw that there was a label that had writing in strange symbols she couldn't even begin to comprehend. She peered at the jar's contents in wonder and then gave the jar a gentle shake, watching as the two ovals danced about in the liquid. How odd.

"W-what is this?" She whispered hoarsely to herself. Curiosity got the best of her and she grappled with the jar's lid before finally prying it open. She stuck her hand in the jar; the yellow liquid was thick, feeling a lot like snot as it strung from her hands. She stared at it in wonder, her fingers rubbing together to feel the consistency of the thick liquid. She brought it up to her nose to smell and then flinched back as the liquid's fowl odor stung her nostrils. _Yuck!_

Putting a hand back in the jar, she searched for the oval like things that bobbed about. She grasped one in her hand and brought it out for inspection.

"What is this?" She asked herself again. She gave the object a squeeze and watched as tiny white dots bubbled forth from inside. She cocked her head to the side in wonder.

Her abdomen still throbbed in pain and she placed a hand over the stitching as if to ease it away with a gentle caress. Once her fingers felt along the patch job she stilled, and her dark eyes went wide. She glanced at the oval object in her hand and then ran her other hand along the stitches that traced her lower abdomen. Comprehension, even in this deluded and fuzzy state she seemed to be in, dawned on her.

"Oh, God," she whispered. "Oh, my God." Her hands shook and the oval object that she had now come to realize was_ hers_ fell to the floor with a soft plop. The sound seemed to echo throughout the empty room and bounce back into her ears tauntingly. Pain erupted through her again, and she felt that this time it was her body in longing for the things that had been taken. She fell to the floor soon after and the only thing she could think as she felt herself go blank was that it was just so damn hot.

_Who am I to disagree?_

* * *

"Your Ooman is awake," the Medical Yautja grunted to the three other Yautja that stood beside him. They grunted in acknowledgment before nodding their heads. "Seems she found the jar." He watched as the Ooman stuck her hands into the preservation liquid and fished out the two objects inside. "I'm surprised she was even able to sit up and move off the table. It was a powerful sedative."

The larger Yautja, the one that had led the hunt back on Earth, snorted at this. "I am not surprised."

"Is that so, K'rak?" The one called K'rak snorted again and waved the question off while his companion spoke up.

"She is strong," the slightly smaller Yautja paused for a moment. "For an Ooman, that is." The smallest of the three nodded in agreement to this. "We do not own weak things."

The medic's mandibles clicked at the three Yautja before turning back to consider his patient as she let out a startled squawk, most likely due to finding her own body organs inside the jar, and then fell to the floor in a heap. "It is odd that you three would bring back a live trophy when you were supposed to dispatch them all. I wonder if the Oomans know."

K'rak's tube like hair rose slightly at the medic's words but he said nothing. His companion, Honorable hunter Vor'mek, chuffed lightly before answering. "The Ooman female was more honorable than most, one would suppose."

Young blood Guan, nodded again to these words. It had been his first hunt on the Ooman planet and he had been excited and anxious to take trophies from Ooman bad bloods. Coming across the female was interesting and though he had been cut a trophy short, Guan didn't seem to mind much. Not if he was going to be sharing this _live_ trophy with the others. No young blood had ever been able to afford the care that went into a pet. The others had agreed to pay _and_ share since he had been cut short a skull for his trophy wall. That in itself was an honor.

"How is her health?" K'rak asked while watching the female's still form on the ship's floor. She had awaken and attempted to move (and was successful!) before she collapsed and receded into her subconscious because of the pain.

The medic looked at the data pad that he had on the Ooman female. "She will live to continue to serve your needs, if that is what you ask. If you're wondering about putting her into the pit once the time comes again," he huffed a bit and scanned through a few charts on the small pad, "I would have to evaluate her again before the time comes. I have not yet had the chance to scan her mental status as she had not been awake when she was brought in. Not that that is unusual." The Medic looked over the three Yautja before resting his eyes on K'rak. "_Will_ you put her in the pit when the time comes?"

K'rak's eyes looked the medic over before looking back over to his companions. "I suppose. Many, if not all, of the Ooman females are put through it."

"What if she is not mentally capable?" Guan asked his fellow hunters. They both shrugged and gazed back at their trophy.

The Medic glanced at them all, "What did this female go through that makes you suggest her mind is broken?"

Vor'mek answered for them, "Many things, Honorable Medic or so it would seem."

_Everybody's looking for something…_

* * *

Jar'ha looked over his ship's systems and ran through a diagnostic check making sure it was following the course set to the clan ship where he would deposit the female and then move on to greater hunts. She would be safe in the Ooman's kept room where many Honorable Hunter's pets stayed while said hunters were gone on hunts and collecting trophies.

For a fee these Ooman female pets would be well taken care of and kept safe for the hunter's use for when he would return. Jar'ha could afford this price, and he meant to use it so as not to take her along with him. That would be too much work and would distract him from the thrill of the hunt. He could not be distracted from his goal of becoming an Honorable Arbitrator either.

Jar'ha looked out at the stars ahead and anticipated landing at the clan ship and depositing his Ooman. She would be well cared for there and not so lonely.

And maybe he would consider placing her in the pit. Jar'ha would have to evaluate her himself before he considered such a thing, though.

Maybe…

_Sweet dreams are made of these_

* * *

_A/N: I'm back! Here's the prologue to Humanity the sequel to Entitlement and The Hearse Song. If you're not sure who that female is in the beginning (because you haven't read The Hearse Song) then no worries. You don't have to have read The Hearse Song to get this; it's merely a background story with Yautja hunting and killing criminals and human insanity. You'll just be left out of a few loops for awhile before it's explained again. _

_Hope you enjoyed! Let me know ;)_

_~LadyB_


	2. Chapter 1

_Humanity:_

"_I've made it a point to ignore all of the people that care about me out of respect for my own sanity…"—__Taken from the private journal of Tabatha Dereaux_

The women called her Mom. At least, that was what the older woman had said when she had begun to show Darcie around the flat that was to be her permanent residence. Mom was twenty years her senior coming to the ripe age of forty-five with long blonde hair that streaked with a few grays here and there. Mom had tied it back with a piece of fabric, though how she did so and had it stay put was a beyond Darcie. Her face came to a nice point at her chin and would have been aesthetically pleasing had her face not been marred with a crisscross scar that covered her pale lips and traveled up her cheeks to rest under her eyes. Darcie tried not to stare, but the scar seemed to be a focal point on the woman's face.

Mom had shown her around the flat taking her into back rooms that led to an assortment of bedrooms and two different bathrooms, one for waste disposure and the other for communal baths and showers. The last room that was all the way to the back was a large exercise pen with various types of equipment littered about the area. There a few other older women in the exercise pen that Mom greeted who sported scars over their backs and down their arms making them grizzly looking and fearsome to approach. After Mom had greeted each one with a few pleasantries that sounded as if they had been repeated over and over again, she shuttled Darcie along back to the living area where the other females were. Mom explained that all of the women here were new arrivals like Darcie, but had come as a group a few weeks prior rather than arriving with just a single Yautja.

They walked the living area while Mom introduced her to all of the females who she seemed to know by name already. There was an assortment of women all varying in size and shape and race; it was a large melting pot of diversity that Darcie enjoyed seeing. The women, all around Darcie's age, were polite and offered kind and sympathetic expressions on the predicament that they were all burdened to share. Darcie noticed that all of the females had been provided with some kind of fabric that they all wore in different styles to match their varying personalities. Most, though, preferred the Greek toga look more than anything and it seemed to be the easiest one to make.

"Oh, yes!" Mom had said when Darcie had brought up the subject. "We have a few more large pieces lying about some place." The older woman began to shift through some pillows that were stacked atop one another at the far corner of the living room. She tossed pillow after pillow aside before procuring a large piece of fabric that none of the other girls had claimed. _Left-overs_, Darcie thought as she frowned. "You'll just have to make do with this until you can tell your Yautja to nab you something else."

Darcie noticed that Mom's own fabric was much softer to the touch and was a brilliant hue of gold. She could not help but feel a bit jealous as she looked back over at the grey sheet she was going to have to wear.

"I can't just wear what I have on?" She asked Mom who looked her over and tutted at the question. Darcie's tank and sweats would have to go. With little shame, Darcie began to relieve herself of her tattered clothing and then allowed Mom to drape her in the grey sheet. Mom pulled out a few pins and a set of needles with a white thread and set to work on making the fabric fitted to Darcie's body as best possible. A few minutes went by before Darcie began to get restless, so she decided to make conversation.

"When were you taken, Mom?" Darcie stumbled over the name Mom as it felt foreign on her tongue. She only had one _mother_.

"Oh, about fifteen years ago—_hold still_—was part of the first batch." She worked away at the fabric.

"I thought they didn't begin to take the women until a month ago." Darcie fidgeted and was rewarded when a pin struck her in the side. She flinched.

"No, no," Mom said as she tore away at some of the longer fabric. "Been taking women since they got here."

"Oh," Darcie said. "There aren't many older women here." Mom hummed in response. "Why?" Darcie probed.

Mom sighed, "That's because they've been retired, dear." She took both of her hands and gave a powerful rip causing the fabric to give way and fall to the floor. This left Darcie covered down to her mid-thigh.

"Retired? Like, sent home?"

Mom stood and began to adjust what dangled around Darcie's breasts. "In a way, yes." She bunched the fabric making it hold tightly around Darcie's chest and ripped away more excess.

"And you haven't been retired yet?"

Mom looked at her for a moment before attending to her mending again. A needle struck Darcie in the side and the younger woman flinched. "I'm much too stubborn." She continued on with the hemming in silence, and Darcie began to reflect on the odd conversation. She wanted to ask more questions but had the feeling that Mom didn't really want to answer them

"There there!" The woman said after she finished hemming the outfit as best she could. Darcie felt as if she were wearing a tight fitting sack but did not complain. "Much more better." Mom smiled and the giant x that crossed over her lips moved with them; it scared Darcie to the point where she didn't comment on the terrible grammar of the statement.

Darcie thanked Mom for her time and the older woman smiled kindly again with her crisscross scar seeming to curve upwards. Mom had then left to make her way deeper into the flat. Darcie fidgeted in place before claiming a seat on a soft cushion in the very back part of the living area away from all of the gossiping women who tried to make the most of their time.

She hadn't wanted to come here. Jar'ha was an asshole. The large Yautja had succeeded in killing Jeremy (Darcie was not quite sure if she was happy about this or not), and then proceeded to drug her into compliance with a damn needle after she had refused his order to 'come'.

What's more is that she had woken up in a small medical room that was smothering her in a suffocating heat with stitches placed across her stomach and a Yautja towering over her administering another dose of _dope_. Then, startled and confused, she had woken up here with the woman known as _Mom_ helping her to her feet and mindful of her stitching. When Darcie had asked about the patch work, Mom had not answered.

Darcie traced her fingers over the fabric and ran them across the staples in her gut. They did not hurt, Mom had assured her that they wouldn't any more, but that didn't quell any of Darcie's fears. Fears of the unknown. She wanted to get up and find some form of comfort with the women that tittered about as if oblivious to what could be awaiting them, but she found that she couldn't will herself to move from her spot on the large cushion that seemed to swallow her body whole. Darcie wished that it _would_ swallow her and take her away from here.

She sat as an observer and her eyes scanned over each woman that sought comfort in the arms of her peers. Their fabrics were all vibrant and struck Darcie as peacock-like while her own grey sack reminded her of an old bag. She fingered the bottom hem that rested on her thighs and made a mental note to ask Jar'ha, whenever she saw him, to bring her something a little nicer.

Movement caught Darcie's eyes and she quickly turned to see a woman, not much older than herself, sit on the cushion next to her own. Darcie watched her as subtly as possible. The woman did not seem interested in the gabbing women that paraded the floor. Instead, in her hands was a paperback book (this came as a big surprise to Darcie who had yet to come across anything that resembled home other than a few hair brushes that were odd looking in make). The woman had short dark hair that appeared as a boy's cut if not a little bit longer. Unlike many of the other girls, her fabric was black and not in a tight forming Greek gown that Darcie's was. It seemed the woman had ripped the dark fabric into two pieces, one covering her bosom tightly and the other just barely covering her to her mid thigh.

The woman also had the same train track stitching going across her own abdomen, but it seemed that the stitches were beginning to dissolve into her skin. She must have been here for a little longer than a few weeks and Darcie wondered if her own stitches would receded into nothing as well, leaving behind a faint scar.

"How long are you going to stare at me?" The woman's voice cut through Darcie's thoughts and made her jump slightly at the sudden sound.

"I'm sorry," Darcie managed to force out before she ducked her head down and began to examine her dress-sack again. The woman hummed and all was quiet for a moment or two before Darcie spoke up again. "Where did you get that book?"

The woman inhaled deeply before letting the breath out in a huff. "I asked for one, and they gave me this garbage." She turned the cover of the book over towards Darcie. War and Peace. The book was large with an over abundance of pages that were wrinkled and stained. The spine was broken and the back cover for the book had been torn off. "Some of the pages are missing or ripped in half and it's covered in stains." She sighed before saving her spot by dog earing the page and closed the book, "But it's better than sitting around with my thumb up my ass."

"Oh," Darcie said. "Did you come with the other girls?"

The woman looked over at the women that huddled in groups before turning back to Darcie with a raised eyebrow. "No, I did not." She studied Darcie's face for a few moments, "What's your name?"

"Darcie." The woman nodded and leaned back in her cushion. "What about yours?" Darcie watched as she shrugged and her fingers drummed along the top of the book.

"Go by a lot of names," she said. "You can just call me Monica." Darcie smiled and stuck her hand out in greeting and waited for the other woman to do the same. Monica frowned and looked steadily at the offered hand before hesitantly sticking her own out as well and grasping Darcie's hand. They shook quickly.

"It's nice to meet you, Monica." Said woman nodded in return and gave a small smile that seemed a bit forced. "Um, hey?"

"Yeah," she answered while opening the book back up and slouching more in her seat.

"What do we do here?" The question was met with silence at first before Monica let out a loud sigh and gave a somewhat sympathetic look at Darcie.

"We are entertainment, Darcie." Silence followed, and Darcie found that she didn't want to strike up any more topics meant for conversation. Instead, she leaned back on her cushion and closed her eyes willing sleep to come and take her from this never ending dream that was now her life.

* * *

Vor'mek found that the Ooman female was settling in nicely, though she kept mostly to herself. It had been reported that she had ignored the help of the Ooman woman 'Mom' and had refused to speak to any of the new females that had appeared just a week after her. It had been concerning, but K'rak had waved off the concern with the notion that 'Oomans were abnormal' and left it at that. Vor'mek had merely nodded and kept all other concerns to himself.

He had had the female once in the month that they had obtained her. He was far too busy training a new set of Unblooded for their upcoming chivas to bother with entertaining himself with the deeds of mating. Youngblood Guan had seen her a few times, but the Youngblood was more interested in interrogating the female with questions than pauking her. He always brought a data pad with him and would jot down notes of things that she had said. He had even brought the female a large book that she had asked for and had been somewhat pleased to receive.

Vor'mek snorted. Guan was too eager to please the female, but Vor'mek decided that it couldn't hurt. He thundered down the hall towards the area designated for Ooman pets. A guard stood before the doors and nodded at Vor'mek before allowing him entrance to the viewing room.

The viewing room was a room just outside of the flat the females shared. It held large monitors that relayed every movement on the inside. One Yautja was watching the screens with disinterest before he glanced at Vor'mek. Vor'mek ignored him and made his way to the screens in an effort to spot his female. He found her sitting near another female while the both conversed about something he couldn't hear.

This was surprising. Every time Vor'mek had ventured down to this wing of the large ship and checked on the female that was part his he had found her alone with no interest in any of the other females. He cocked his head to the side and his dread-like hair followed suit. Vor'mek debated on whether or not to interrupt them.

A chime on his wrist let him know that the unblooded youngsters were back from their respective meals and ready for another session before they retired for the cycle. His decision having been made for him, Vor'mek left the room and made his way back to the sparing pits where his students would be waiting for him.

* * *

Two days had gone by and Darcie found boredom creeping up on her. Sitting around on a cushion for hours at a time while her only company was a woman who didn't _want_ to talk to her was getting old fast. After waking up and eating what was wheeled in by a small Yautja, Darcie was itching for a change in pace.

She made her way to the very back part of the flat were she had seen the older women exercising. Maybe she could do that? Darcie reached the room and watched the women (there were but four of them including Mom) do various exercises that caused her to cringe. Had she ever been able to do a pushup?

Mom spotted her and gave her a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and waved her over. Darcie made her way over to the older woman who was lifting a strange weight.

"Hello there, Darcie," she said as her arms brought the weights up and down and up. "What brings you back here?" It seemed that the other younger women never really traveled back here much.

"I was getting bored," she said while watching another rather large and buff woman do pushups as if they were the easiest thing to accomplish. The buff woman had her fair share of scars as well, and Darcie wondered if some of the Yautja beat their humans.

"Bored?" Mom laughed, "You've got a room full of friends you can talk to, why would you wanna come in here and talk to us old women?" Darcie had the odd feeling that Mom was trying to get rid of her. It was just an odd feeling that settled in the back of her mind; she tried to ignore it.

"Well, I—." She was cut off from whatever she was going to say by a loud shout coming from the living area. Darcie turned towards the exercise room door and listened.

"This place is hell!" The shout was so that loud that it echoed through the whole flat causing even the older women to stop their exercises and glance up. "Of course it's hell! You see all these women? You watch, we'll all be on the same cycle and THEN hell will have really come upon this place!"

Mom glanced over at Darcie with that same wide smile that was beginning to creep her out. "It looks like we have a new young lady with us." Lady seemed to be a questionable term to use if what they were now hearing was correct. She set her weights down and the landed with a thump. Darcie hadn't realized they were that heavy.

"I am NOT staying here, you asshole. This-this is just terrible! I thought I'd at least be eaten or used as target practice."

As they made their way closer, Darcie couldn't help but feel that the voice sounded too familiar. They walked through the arch way and into the living area to find a tall woman with heels strapped to her feet arguing with a large Yautja. Darcie recognized this woman immediately as well as the Yautja she was currently yelling at.

It was the Clan Leader, Gar'n, who was towering over a fuming Tabatha. His large hand was placed firmly on her head and giving it a few pats which only served to anger her more. The clan leader looked up and saw them and gave a friendly trill. Tabatha noticed and turned towards the archway.

Darcie would have thought that Tabatha would be happy to see her. Darcie was happy to see a familiar face, though how Tabatha found her way here was a mystery. Tabatha locked eyes with Darcie and gave a loud groan.

"And look! The Devil has come out from the pit of this hell to welcome me with fiery arms!" Darcie, though slightly insulted, could do nothing but smile.

* * *

_A/N: The beginning was a pain to write! Ughhh. Anyway, Jar'ha will be in the next one as he comes to visit his human, Darcie. Thank you all for a warm welcome for the prologue! I got so many and it made me smile!_

_Hope you all enjoy!_


	3. Chapter 2

_Humanity:_

"…_curious about the purpose of lying. I have yet to see an exceptional liar. They are all moronic individuals who must cover their tracks repeatedly as they step through their own endless maze less the hound catch on to their scent."—Taken from the private journal of Tabatha Dereaux._

Tabatha made no move to go and embrace Darcie, much to said woman's disappointment. Instead, she found it more productive to watch Gar'n's receding figure as he left the flat and Tabatha behind. Tabatha flipped him off and gave a snort before turning in place to examine the area. Her eyes glanced over every woman in the room critically before coming back to Darcie and Mom who stood waiting for her.

Mom smiled sweetly, as if she were trying to placate an ornery child, and moved forward to the frowning woman who stood tapping her heels on the carpeted ground. "Hello," Mom began, "I'm Mom, or so the women call me. You're welcome to as well."

Tabatha made a face that pulled her lips down into a sneer. "I'm assuring you right now that I won't." Darcie almost laughed at the face of the older woman—almost. She should have expected no less from the woman who took it upon herself to be as stubborn and headstrong as possible in the face of people she recognized as authority figures. It seemed to be her life's goal. "No offense," Tabatha continued with an air full of smug that was sure to offend _everyone _with its suffocating nature. "I already have a mom, and I don't even want that one."

Tabatha was taller than Mom but her heels gave her the advantage, if only a slight one. Yet, Darcie noticed—and it seemed to just slap her in the face—that Mom's build was almost as buff as the beefy woman that had been exercising in the back room. Yet, Mom's built body was subtle in the way that her face, though scarred, attracted your attention more than her muscles did and it was a dangerous realization. Tabatha, however, was curvy and, while muscular in her own way, had nowhere near the same bulge that the other older women had.

Mom still smiled, though it seemed a bit tight on her face. "That's quite all right, Miss—?"

"Tabatha," She answered and then moved her eyes over Mom's face. They danced over the scar for the briefest of moments before moving over the woman's shoulder and settling on Darcie. She gave her a Cheshire grin. "Darcie, darlin', how are things in this hell? Good, yes? The Devil has treated you warmly?" Her eyes shifted back to Mom pinning her with a stare before returning to Darcie's.

"I thought _I_ was the Devil." Darcie said with a roll of her eyes. Tabatha laughed, moved around Mom, and came to stand before her shorter friend.

"No, no! Merely the messenger." She laughed again before glancing down at Darcie's garb. Her expression quickly changed. "Oh, ew." She brought a hand up to finger the fabric while she frowned. "What is this?"

"_This_ was all they had left, this and another large piece of it." Tabatha's nose wrinkled and she sneered at the distasteful color. "I'm sure Mom can make you something out of the other piece—."

"I'll be fine with what I'm wearing, thanks." She brought her hand back down to rest at her side. Tabatha then began to move around the room taking in the plain decorum with a blank face while Darcie followed her. She had tried to introduce her to the other women in the room, but Tabatha had waved them off with a flick of her hand exclaiming that she didn't care to meet any more people than she had to. This did not put her in the other women's good graces. In fact they sneered and glowered at the duo as they both circled the room.

"Want me to have Mom show you around?" Darcie asked when they had circled the room a good three times. Her friend pulled a face and glanced over at the older woman who was talking animatedly with some of the other girls.

"No, I think you'll do just fine, and you're starting to annoy the hell out of me with that _Mom_ garbage." Tabatha made her way to the back rooms with Darcie in tow as they moved from room to room examining her surroundings with a critical eye. She picked at random pillows, tossing them about and looking over large beds. The bathroom she skimmed over as well as the showers before arriving at the exercise room at the far back. "This is interesting," she murmured while observing the few older women doing their daily work outs.

"Yeah, the older women spend most of their time back here." Tabatha found this odd but said nothing on the matter; she continued to watch. She gave each woman a once over and took notice of the scars that were scattered about their bodies and the bulky build of their muscles. The women ignored the two younger females in favor of their exercising.

"Does the one you call _Mom_ work out as well?" She asked Darcie who nodded silently. _Interesting_. Tabatha felt a twinge of pain and rubbed at her stomach where she felt the stitching she had found earlier. It hurt a bit, but she had not said anything about the pain; it wasn't bad, just annoying—almost like an itch. She could hazard a guess that they had taken something out, most likely her ovaries or uterus…or both. Tabatha knew she should feel some sort of feminine pain from the fact that she would most likely never reproduce, but her mind was hell bent on focusing on the actions of the older women and of the character of _Mom_.

She itched around the stitching; she would need to change into that bed sheet soon whether she liked it or not. The color was hideous and the fabric felt funny, but her clothes now were beginning to irritate her patched up wound and would most likely cause the area to itch more. Tabatha looked down at Darcie and heaved a sigh before beginning to trek back to the living area where her friend would procure the ugly sheet. Her shoes, and this went without saying, although she had seen all of the females without them, would be staying on.

"Okay, now how do you want it fitted?" Darcie asked as she held the large, grey sheet up for Tabatha's inspection. It was still hideous. She shrugged her shoulders and glanced around the room for style ideas when her eyes rested on a woman sitting alone with a large book in her hands. _This_ was not what caught her eye, though. It was the way she had fixed her black sheet (Tabatha was _very_ jealous of it) that had grabbed a hold of her attention. The fabric was ripped into two pieces, one wrapped around the woman's breasts while the other made a short skirt that came to mid thigh.

"I want it like hers," Tabatha said, and she pointed to the woman (who looked vaguely familiar, but she passed it off as mere coincidence) who was reading alone. Darcie was about to reproach her on the rudeness of pointing when she saw who Tabatha was pointing at.

"Oh, you mean like Monica's?" Darcie hummed and looked at the out stretched sheet. "Sure, sure, I'll just have to find a way to rip this and—."

With quick movements, the fabric was taken from her and ripped jaggedly in half by Tabatha's strong hands. It was quite startling to witness, especially when Darcie had tried to do so earlier with some loose fabric on her dress and had failed miserably, but she was not surprised at the strength in her friend's arms. Tabatha said nothing when she handed the two pieces back to Darcie and then proceeded to strip until she was as bare as the day she was born aside from her underwear bottoms that she refused to take off.

Darcie hurriedly began to wrap a sarong type bottom for her friend, mindful of the fresh stitches, so that she didn't blatantly seem to be copying Monica's style of dress. It was a longer skirt than Monica's, yet while one leg was almost completely covered by the material, the other was exposed from mid thigh down for the world to see. Tabatha hummed at the look and gave her friend a nod to continue. Darcie took the remaining fabric and doubled it so as to cover her friend's breasts better without there being anything showing through. She wrapped the fabric around Tabatha's chest tightly and began to make a knot in the back that would hold and keep her breasts from bouncing about.

Tabatha twisted herself around and examined her new outfit. The color was still a disgusting shade of grey and the fabric felt odd against her skin, but the uncomfortable feeling that had made its way across her stitching was gone. Darcie smiled at her handy work.

"Did you want to meet Monica?" She asked Tabatha who had stopped her turning.

Tabatha raised an eyebrow, "Do I ever want to meet anybody?" She shook her head and her dark locks swayed across her back. "Be fortunate that I'm even talking to you." Darcie rolled her eyes at the comment.

"I haven't done anything to you."

Tabatha snorted, "You're the reason I'm even here to begin with."

* * *

Jar'ha was preparing to visit the female before he left on a long hunt with a few of his fellow clan brothers. He had heard from the guards that she had been installed smoothly without any infighting among the other, older females. This was good.

He had been asked, upon bringing her to the medic for her health examination and her sterilization, if she would be submitted to the pit where most females were placed to ensure honor and worthiness. Jar'ha had exclaimed that he would examine the female himself and then give his answer to the guards there who would in turn report to the medic. He was anxious about submitting her so soon in taking her. The pit was dangerous. Jar'ha had witnessed this himself when a few of his clan brothers had ushered him to watch as their females braved not only other creatures, but the dangers of facing one another.

It was great for entertainment, but now that Jar'ha had an Ooman female of his own, he wasn't quite sure if he would be able to find the time to replace her if things went wrong. Not to mention had had spent a long time trying to obtain this female.

Back when the planet was first being taken under their dominating force, one of the clan leader's advisors, Kor'tect, had been one of the firsts to take a female. Then, after seeing her spirit, had claimed that if they were to have Ooman pets then these Oomans would have to prove themselves much like the Unblooded did during their chivas. The others had taken to it immediately and soon all older, experienced Yautja who had taken an Ooman were placing them within the pit for the females' judgment. Not many survived. In fact, so few survived that the Yautja kept having to go back and get new females. Which was a hassle and a bit humiliating when other Yautja's Oomans survived and yours did not, showing poor judgment on your part.

The longest standing Ooman female was Kor'tect's, who loudly boasted that his Ooman was far more superior and that the younger generations should take note. A few other females had survived after her and soon the guards of the Ooman's quarters began to take notice that these few survivors would begin keeping to themselves and forming a group that worked together in the pit. And it was all Kor'tect's female who began to run things in the Ooman flat. The one the other Ooman female's called Mom.

Jar'ha wondered how Clan Leader Gar'n's female was going to do in the pit. Gar'n had not said much on the subject when Kor'tect, who had caught wind of the clan leader obtaining an Ooman, had asked if the Ooman would be submitted to the pit. Their clan leader had merely nodded. And when Kor'tect asked if the Ooman would fare well, Gar'n only said that an Ooman female was the reflection of the Yautja that had chosen them. The matter was dropped after that with no more words from Kor'tect.

Jar'ha disagreed with Gar'n's statement, though. There wasn't any way that his Ooman was a reflection of himself, the honored warrior on his way to becoming an Arbitrator. The Ooman was weak, both physically and mentally, and didn't have much to her but an odd sense of Ooman morals that jar'ha couldn't help but respect. But he found himself liking her to an extent. She had a bit of spunk to say no to him after he had ordered her to come. Other than that, Jar'ha was not sure as to _why_ he had wanted her except for the mere fact that she had so adamantly _not_ wanted him.

His thoughts whirled about inside his bulbous head as he made his way to the Ooman's flat where he would take his female aside and examine her. Males were not allowed to instruct their females on what they would face in the pit. Just as instructors did not tell their Unblooded students what terrain they would face or how many hardmeats they would encounter—that was the way all Yautja, and now Ooman females, were judged. Adaption was the only way to survive. But that did not mean that he could not hint at it. He may not have been allowed to let her know when or what was going to happen, but he would make her cautious.

The guards greeted him with a nod and bid him enter while closing the door silently behind him. He passed the monitoring section and went immediately into the flat where Ooman females clustered together on pillows and blankets. Jar'ha looked around until he spotted his Ooman arguing with another taller Ooman female. He did not recognize this female, but she did not seem too invested in the argument to prove dangerous to his female.

Jar'ha got within a few feet of the two Oomans before his own turned and frowned at him. He mused that she must not have been too happy with being taken unwillingly and after she had denied him.

"What are you doing here?" She asked him, and she took both tiny Ooman hands and placed them on her hips. If it was supposed to be an intimidating gesture, it was lost on Jar'ha who merely snorted at the gesture.

He turned to the other female and growled, "Leave." She in turn gave her own snort and made a gesture that he didn't grasp the meaning to and left. Jar'ha focused his attention back on his own Ooman. He first realized that he couldn't recall her name. The older Ooman male, Cockz, had said it before but Jar'ha was at a loss as to what it was.

"Jar'ha," he stated slowly in her Ooman tongue and then pointed at herself. She scoffed loudly and turned her nose up.

"You don't even know my name!" She said while turning back to glare up at him. It had no effect on Jar'ha, though. He did not find her frightening merely stubborn.

"Jar'ha," he repeated again, and then pointed at her with a long, thick finger. She did nothing but snort at his insistence.

Tabatha wandered over to where the woman, Monica, was seated on a large cushion with a book held tightly in her grasp. Tabatha noticed the title and snorted lightly upon sitting down near her. The book closed slightly, and Monica looked up to lock eyes with a woman she had seen Darcie fussing over all day.

"Can I help you?" She asked, irritated at being regarded. Monica didn't want people to talk to her; their presence in her life would only make things difficult and hard to understand. She was plagued enough as it was.

Tabatha scrunched her face up, "Where'd ya get the book?" Monica noticed that, though the woman seemed to try to hide it, she had an underlying southern accent that Monica could only place as being either from Mississippi or Louisiana.

"From my Yautja." _Or one of them, at least._

"You just asked for it?"

"Yes."

"You _wanted_ War and Peace?"

"No."

"Much of a big reader?"

"When the mood strikes me."

Tabatha hummed and nodded her head, "I bet you're crazy." To this Monica flinched and snapped the book closed with a loud thump. Her hand twitched ever so slightly and Tabatha smiled at the movement.

"And just who are you?"

And the next statement and Monica's own answer would determine the factor of how both of these women would forever continue to act towards one another. In fact, had Tabatha merely said her name, Monica would never have talked to the arrogant woman again. But Tabatha did not, and so Monica would be thrust into another unwilling companionship that wasn't exactly a friendly one but wasn't hostile either.

"I'm a real, slam-bang, honest-to-goodness, three-fisted humdinger. I'm a bona fide supraman."

Monica's only reply, which would piss Tabatha off to her dying day as she would continually try to get the woman with other ones such as these, was the very answer that Tabatha had been so sure as to not expect.

"Catch-22," was Monica's confident reply, and Tabatha's own hand twitched _this_ time.

Jar'ha had left her with the sudden feeling that something big was going to happen. He had told her in a few clipped words that he was leaving for awhile and would be back at a later date. Much to Darcie's confusion, he had grasped her shoulder and shaken it a bit before heading out of the flat without another word.

A commotion caused Darcie to look over toward the back of the living area to see the other women rushing to get out of the way as two of them tussled on the floor growling and grunting at each other like fighting bitches over a bone. Much to Darcie's own horror and embarrassment, the two women were Tabatha and Monica with the latter pinning the former down and balling a fist to punch in her face.

Various insults such as: bitch, whore, skank, ass, and a few others that made Darcie blush, were thrown about as the women struggled for dominance. Tabatha kneed Monica in the gut and she doubled over in pain while Tabatha sat up quickly and tried to pin the downed Monica. The other women watched from a distance, too afraid that should they wander too close, they would be subjected to the fight.

From the back Darcie saw Mom emerge and watched as her usually smiling, but scarred, face twist into a frown as she marched over to the fighting women. What happened next was only what Darcie could think of as planned. Tabatha, she knew, didn't do anything without a specific reason for doing it; she was much too lazy to fight someone when she could just try to intimidate them with her presence. That being said, there was a _reason_ Tabatha had started the fight—and Darcie knew she started it.

Mom went over and with two strong arms pulled the women apart and yanked them to their feet. Her hands gripped them at their shoulders and shook them a bit before, and this seemed to have been a _big_ mistake on her part, she let them go. Mom opened her mouth to send out a tirade about how fighting amongst themselves like squawking hens was prohibited when a fist came and embedded itself into the woman's cheek forcing her backwards onto the ground.

This was only Darcie's fourth day and Tabatha's first…

* * *

Gar'n sat with his advisors at a lavish meal with all the c'ntlip they could drink and various types of meats at their disposal. Every cycle at this time the guards that sat monitoring the Ooman females would rotate out and the last guards on duty would report to them for a report.

They arrived later than usual, in the middle of loud discussion on the upcoming trials of the pit that many of the females would face in five or six cycles. The two guards were announced and then led into the room where Gar'n stopped all conversation to hear them.

"Speak," he growled out to them, and all of the Yautja in the room turned their attention to the two guards.

"Most of the cycle went by without disruption," the first one began. "Honorable Blooded Jar'ha stopped by to examine his female before submitting her to the pit, as is his right, and then leaving on a long hunt that marks his return for a day after the pit trials begin."

Kor'tect snorted loudly, "I would leave as well with an Ooman that the Honorable Blooded Jar'ha has brought back from the back water planet." His mandibles clicked together roughly, "she is a scrawny thing, is she not?"

Gar'n, who had been enjoying his drink, spoke up, "they are all scrawny, Honorable Kor'tect." He then waved a large hand for the two guards to continue.

"During the middle of the cycle the Ooman female, Honorable Clan Leader's female, started a fight with the female belonging to Honorable Blooded K'rak, Honorable Blooded Vor'mek, and Youngblood Guan." Announced the second guard who stood ramrod straight next to the first.

Gar'n chuckled into his large cup at the news, but he said nothing about it. Kor'tect grunted and the others at the table merely listened with vague interest.

"During the scuffle, Honorable Clan Leader's Ooman female struck out at Honorable Kor'tect's female leaving her face bruised and lip busted." Kor'tect's mandibles dropped in shock at the news while Gar'n chuckled again. "It would seem that the Ooman female belonging to Honorable Kor'tect was trying to pull the two apart when Honorable Clan Leader's Ooman female punched her with a smile on her face."

The second guard continued for his partner, "The other Ooman female belonging to the three blooded warriors then proceeded to strike Honorable Clan Leader's female and then the two were pulled apart by Honorable Blooded Jar'ha's female who suffered no injury."

Kor'tect clenched his mandibles tightly together as his clan leader let out a loud laugh that echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and springing back to all their ears. Gar'n, who calmed a bit after hearing the news, prodded at his advisor who was steaming at the information.

"It appears, Honorable Kor'tect, that you underestimate Jar'ha's Ooman female greatly." Another chortle escaped him, "I am looking forward to seeing how she fares in the pit against your Ooman, Kor'tect." With a wave of his monstrous hand, the guards were excused and the meal continued with Kor'tect nursing his anger in silence.

* * *

_A/N: If any of you have never read Catch-22, go and read it. The line Tabatha says is straight from the novel. I have never read a funnier book than that one. Next chapter will be a bit of a time skip, hope you're all ready for it!_

_Let me know what you think!_

_A quick shout out to Bree51 (who is anonymous but always leaves a heartwarming review. Since you're anonymous, I can't reply to you!): Sorry you're sick :( hope you get better soon!_

_You are all amazing reviewers! The best ever!_

_~LadyB_


	4. Chapter 3

_Humanity:_

"…_I find myself dreaming of things long out of my reach."— __Taken from the private journal of Tabatha Dereaux_

She tried to hide it as best she could—the ever growing desire to be rid of every single woman aboard the large craft they were trapped on. Every so often she would catch her mind drifting back to the knife that had been gripped so tightly in her hands and the warm blood that dripped from it and ran onto her dirty hands.

They were very filthy hands. Covered in the dirt and blood of past deeds that didn't like to be covered over with the façade she had implemented. The only thing keeping her demons at bay was the ever constant persistent challenges that the loud and obnoxious woman—Tabatha—kept tossing at her at odd moments. Word play kept the monsters at bay and helped her to recall the time of before.

_Before._ It was such a strong word when coupled with all of her past transgressions. Before when? Before her marriage? Before her children? Before the deaths—before her anger or her insanity that persisted at clawing at the recesses of her mind? Or before the woman called Lucille and her ghostly image that hadn't ceased to cling to her with a leech-like ferocity?

One of the women in the large living area laughed loudly and Monica flinched as the sound seemed to echo around her. She didn't know where this urge to be rid of them came from; they had done nothing wrong accept to enjoy what little they could while they remained trapped. But still the monsters gnashed their sharp teeth against the mental bars she hid them behind and caused Monica to concede that killing them, or t the very least one of them, would bring only positive outcomes.

She tried to sink further into the large cushion and ignore the gaggling women who seemed ignorant as to the final outcome of their stay aboard the Yautja's ship. It was inevitable, Monica reasoned when she had first awoken in this specialized hell, that they would all die is some way or fashion. She was not ignorant of the scarred women and their insatiable lust for exercise and had come to the conclusion that something big was going to be happening—soon.

Monica was aware that Tabatha, though the woman had said nothing about it, knew this as well. The well placed punch that, while not lacking in strength but in aim (it had clipped the side of the older woman, _Mom,_ instead of hitting her eye dead on), had struck the older veteran had said it all. The other woman, Darcie, was just as anxious and did not gaggle with the other females; yet, she was ignorant as to how soon things would begin to take place. Monica was not so ignorant. She had noticed the timely visits the medic had begun to make, checking each woman over and asking questions in clipped English that could only be discerned in a probing manner.

Meals were more frequent as well and included heaps upon heaps of meats while brandishing a few odd looking fruits and greens that most of the younger women strayed from. The older women inhaled these greens regardless of the bitter taste, and Monica followed suit which caused Darcie to nibble a bit at them and Tabatha to blatantly refuse the 'garbage'. The oddly colored fruits were a mixture of tangy and sour which caused Monica to avoid them, not liking the way the sour taste settled on the buds of her tongue. Tabatha seemed to have no trouble eating them with vigor.

As more time passed the more antsy and agitated the older women became and the more they lost their temper and fought amongst themselves like rabid bitches in heat. Tabatha, Monica had noticed, had been watching the older women religiously and scrutinized each, her dark eyes passing over scars and muscles while soaking in every detail. All the while the gaggle of young girls continued on as if life would go on only being interrupted when they were needed to perform sexually. As time passed in a slow creep the visits from their Yautja captives became more and more frequent, as if the males couldn't quite get their fill of sexual pleasure. Her own Yautja were no better. The smallest of the three sought her out the most often, but he seemed mostly content with examining her features and talking with her in garbled words than dragging her out to his own quarters for a few go rounds, not that that still didn't happen. The other two visited a bit more and always took her with them to their rooms for a night and then returned her early the next day, if one could tell what were days and what were nights. Everything seemed to pass in a haze, so what did it matter?

As much as the sexual part of being taken captive made her feel used and as much of a common item as soap, she didn't mind it as much as the other women seemed to. Most leaving in tears when their Yautja came to retrieve them. No, Monica didn't seem to mind that she had traded survival for sexual favors. They didn't harm her and Monica found herself enjoying it at times when she forced her body to relax and allowed her mind to wander—which was becoming more and more dangerous with each passing thought. Darcie seemed to be free from these sexual exploits as her Yautja hadn't shown his large hulking figure in a good long while which seemed to unsettle the younger woman a bit. Tabatha's Yautja visited every now and then and seemed to coddle the woman with rough pats on her head and strokes. He took her out of the women's quarters but if he ever used her for sexual release, Tabatha never said. From what she had seen, it seemed that the older Yautja just liked to show off an ornery pet like one would coo and aww over a feisty kitten. Tabatha wasn't pleased with her outings, and Monica was sure that the obnoxiously loud woman would rather be used for sex than be treated like a house pet.

Monica fingered the tattered remains of War and Peace and sighed. She was finished with the horrendously long book and had been anxiously waiting for the smallest of her Yautja to come so that she could request for another one. Tabatha had already tried to procure a novel for herself but her Yautja didn't seem to understand so she had (almost!) begged Monica to allow her the use of War and Peace while Monica had only agreed if she got another book to keep her occupied. That seemed to be difficult, however. These last couple of times it had been merely the other two Yautja rather than the smallest of the trio, and they weren't interested in her wants as much as the other was. Movement caused Monica to turn and catch the sight of Tabatha flopping down loudly beside her. There was a grin plastered on her angular face and it gave Monica pause to consider what her not-companion could have been up to.

"And you seem to be up to no good." Monica stated while casting her eyes over Tabatha's grinning face. It would have made the Cheshire cat envious of such a large, devious smile that seemed to say: _We're all made here. _Monica's first impression of Tabatha had ran along the lines of loud and white trash before it developed into loud and slightly better and slightly more educated than the average white trash and oh so dangerously devious—when she wanted to be, of course. And now a days (were they days?) she _always_ wanted to be.

"_I_ am not the one who is up to no good." Tabatha slid her eyes over towards where the older women, for once taking a break from their exercise, gathered together and ate. Monica couldn't blame her suspicions for she had her own. "Yet, what is _good_ and what is _bad_ is the proper question. One could beg to reason that there are varying shades of grey that are not good but neither are they bad."

Monica snorted at her words, "so you're a philosopher now; is that it? A southern reject who plays the part of word play, but actually hides behind a philosophical wall so that no one can see the idiot that cowers behind it?" Monica was surprised at the tone of her own voice but ignored it. She had long ago tired of being nice when she felt no need to be. "You must be so proud."

Tabatha, as thick skinned as she was, merely laughed. "I suppose everyone's hiding behind something. Yet, I'd rather hide behind walls of philosophy than one's built up from the bricks of insanity." She slid her eyes to meet Monica's and the two stared unblinking at each other for what seemed like the longest.

Monica snorted and turned away first, "One must always hide behind something, nowadays."

Tabatha nodded, "It is human nature after all." She licked her lips and then glanced at the novel she was after. "One must be cunning and wicked in this world." Monica smiled and a chuckle escaped her thin lips.

"Now, I didn't know you had read War and Peace." She smiled lightly, "You might have told me how it ended and save me the painstakingly long journey into reading it."

Tabatha shrugged her shoulders, "is that where that quote came from? Who would've thought my philosophical walls would have pulled from that?" The two women chuckled again and then fell into a companionable silence that was not friendly but lacked all animosity. There were always varying shades of grey. Monica supposed Tabatha was correct on that statement.

A screech was heard form one of the younger girls and Tabatha's grin boomed across her face as she watched the events play out for her entertainment. Something had to keep her occupied.

* * *

It was happening. The big thing that had the older women so anxious. It was happening. There had been no cart wheeled into the living area loaded to the brim with meats and greens and fruits. No visitors had come to relieve their own sexual tension with their young pets, which the younger women seemed to be pleased about, but the act was odd. Monica had not seen her own Yautja in a good couple of cycles, not that she was necessarily complaining. At least she got the smaller one to grab a new book for her before they went on this timely hiatus. Where he got them, though, was something she couldn't even fathom. She imagined the Yautja waltzing into a Barnes&Noble and picking the first book he saw. The image made her smile at its ridiculousness.

Monica looked down at the book in her hands. Les Miserables. Her smaller Yautja seemed to have an affinity with large books jammed to the point of bursting. Monica supposed it was as good as anything; she'd already seen the musical, but reading the book wouldn't pose too much of an annoyance. She wondered briefly if Tabatha or Darcie had ever read it but quickly figured that Darcie would not have as she had expressed no desire to read while Tabatha was quick to catch Monica's own allusions to the classics.

She looked up from the book and noticed that Darcie had drifted over to her and made herself comfortable on the large cushion that Monica claimed as her own day by day. The younger woman's brow was furrowed and her hands wrung together ever so slightly. She shifted closer to Monica, seeking some form of comfort that the other woman was too hesitant to give. Or rather, Monica wasn't sure if she had any comfort left in her to give. Her thoughts drifted back to Lucille and of her ghostly visage that had plagued her until she had all but disappeared with nothing left for Monica to hold on to but the faint reminder that Lucille had been the woman grasping onto the comfort that she might live through hell. The woman who had a little boy, and who couldn't escape the nightmarish demon of a next door neighbor—that was Lucille. The older woman who had died following Monica deeper into their final punishment and who had still haunted Monica's own tattered mind even after death.

No…

Monica had no comfort to give, but that didn't mean she could not pretend for just a bit more until those demons that threw themselves at their mental cage broke free and wrought havoc on those around her. Monica would just have to pretend a little longer.

"Something is going to happen," Darcie whispered to her, and Monica nodded. "Something bad." Of that, though, Monica was not certain but she nodded her head again anyway. "I can tell, and Tabatha has been speculating but she's not certain either."

Monica caught herself about to comment on the credibility of Tabatha. While the woman was indeed obnoxious and loud and annoying, she was very intuitive and quick to grasp on to the heavy air that settled around their quarters.

"I'm not a good fighter." Darcie said as if she had plucked the statement from thin air. "Hell, I'm not even that good a runner."

"What makes you say this?" Monica asked while her hands clenched her book tightly. The poor child's face on the cover wrinkled at the motion and caused it to take on an awkward look. "Has anyone brought up the subject of fighting?"

Darcie shook her head slowly and for a moment Monica would have sworn to seeing something older in her eyes. "They whisper about it. I pretend to act naïve and ignorant and they'll whisper about it—and I hear it." Darcie moved closer to Monica, "they're going to pick us off. I can tell by the way they look at us while we're not looking. When _I'm_ not looking."

"Who?" Monica asked but it was in vain for she already knew _who_.

Darcie glanced around the room and Monica found herself wondering why knowing was such a big secret. Why would the older women care if they knew? But Monica remained silent. "They want us to lose, and I'm afraid if we lose, we die."

"And what makes you say that we'll die?"

"Because there weren't many women here when we arrived." Darcie licked her lips and her eyes darted around the room again. Monica recognized the glossy haze that she had come to interpret as growing hysteria and she sympathized with her. This place was a hell. "Mom said they retired."

From the other side of the room a yell rang out and both women rose to their feet while their eyes sought out the commotion.

One of the older women had a handful of another young girl's hair and proceeded to pull and yank at the golden locks causing the girl to yelp. The olden woman, who was sporting scars and a cropped hair cut, smiled at the sound of the girl's pain filled screams and yanked harder. Monica watched as Darcie hesitated for but a moment and then, with a deep intake of breath, moved forward.

"Hey! Hey!" Darcie yelled out and the older woman with the fistful of locks glanced up at her. The younger girl was crying now, heavy sobs escaped her as her scalp most likely throbbed in pain. Monica remained silent and ever watchful. Tabatha was surprisingly absent. "What do you think you're doing? Let her go, you're hurting her!"

The woman snorted and rolled her dull eyes before glancing behind her at _Mom_ who watched emotionless. She turned her attention back towards Darcie and then flickered a glance at the sobbing young woman on her knees. No other female came to the young girl's defense; they all stood wide eyed and kept as much of a distance as they could, not wanting to share in the same fate as their so-called friend.

After a few long moments that crawled by with a seemingly endless pace, the older woman—who Monica privately began to refer to as Big Bitch—let the girl's hair loose and moved from the living area towards the other rooms. The older women followed her with only _Mom_ straying for a few seconds longer.

The young girl fell to the floor in a heap and cried softly while Darcie went to her and checked her head over for any bleeding. None of the other young girls moved towards her. They stood hesitantly and then, one by one, they dispersed about the living area gabbing and laughing with each other. They ignored the sobbing girl who used to gab with them.

Monica watched as Darcie pet the younger girl's head with slow, comforting motions. Darcie whispered quiet, soft words to the crying girl who didn't understand what she had done wrong. Monica moved towards the two with slow steps; she was uncomfortable with the notion of coddling and didn't quite know how to handle someone who needed it. From the back rooms Tabatha emerged and came to stand above Darcie and the young girl with whom Darcie was still trying to soothe.

"Who's this?" Tabatha asked Monica; she only shrugged. "What happened to her? One of the big guys get too rough?"

"No." Monica said while watching the two women on the floor. "One of the older women grabbed a fistful of her hair and tried to yank her scalp off."

"Oh? Which butchy bitch was it?"

"The taller one with the cropped hair." Tabatha looked around as if to try and spot the woman, but Big Bitch had vanished into the back rooms.

"Ah, the _real_ butch lookin' one." Tabatha squatted down to look at the young girl who was just beginning to pull herself together. "Hey, kid, you okay? The butchy bitch didn't hurt you too bad did she?" At the words _butchy bitch_ the young girl let out a giggle.

"No, just my head hurts." The young girl's voice came out soft and Monica was instantly reminded of Lucille whispering to her in the dark as they made their way through the dense jungle. It was maddening to hear.

"She's not bleeding or anything, so that's good." Darcie said while helping the girl to stand. "What's your name?"

"Anne," she answered. Immediately after hearing this, Tabatha began to hum a certain tune that Monica recognized as Barbara Anne by the Beach Boys. Having no shame or common human decency, Tabatha began to forgo humming with completely singing the entire song starting with the very beginning, _"Ba ba ba ba ba Barbara Anne. Ba ba ba ba ba Barbara Anne."_ Needless to say her singing wasn't that good.

Darcie laughed, "I'm Darcie and that," she pointed to the still singing Tabatha, "is Tabatha." Anne nodded. "And this," she turned her attention to Monica, "is Monica."

"Hey," Monica said in greeting. "You gonna be all right?" Anne nodded again.

"I will be." Her soft voice brought back painful memories that Monica tried to ignore in favor of listening to Tabatha's horrid rendition of Barbara Anne. They all remained silent while Tabatha continued to sing when the doors opened and the two large Yautja that usually brought in their meals began to roughly round them all up into a line.

Tabatha's song had ended and she began to start with a new one. Monica found the tune slightly better pitched than the other as the woman sang, _"Aruba, Jamaica, oooh I wanna take you—to Bermuda, Bahamas come on pretty momma…_"

The Yautja did not tell her to stop as they gathered all the women in a formal line with the older women leading and began to lead them out. One Yautja leading them onward and while the other took up the back catching any who strayed from the military straight line they had formed. The only sound was Tabatha's continued singing of Kokomo.

* * *

They had all been separated, and Darcie felt very alone. Monica had been placed with two other girls, Tabatha with another two, Anne was off with three others, and Darcie was left with two young women who fidgeted and whined to each other about how dark and incredibly hot it was.

And God was it hot. Had it always been this hot? No, no in their quarters it had been cool and comfortable, but out here and placed in this dark room it was hot. A suffocating heat that made her feel claustrophobic in the small room they had been shoved into. It had been hot on the way. The temperature had changed immediately from cool and relaxing to hot and demanding once they had stepped out into the hall and it had only gotten worse as they walked.

The whining of the two women continued and Darcie had to resist the urge to snap at them both. Rounds of 'it's hot' or 'it's dark' echoed repeatedly, and Darcie swore if she could see—it was _that_ dark—then she would have strangled them both. But she couldn't see and the women stayed far away from as if she would turn on them like the older woman had on Anne. She would never do that, not unprovoked anyway.

She didn't believe she could…but what scared her most was the fact that maybe one day she would be like those older women. So hell bent on living that they were lost. Could she be like that? Darcie shivered despite the heat and tried to shake off the thought. A loud rumbled sounded and a cranking was heard. Light began to shine into the dark hovel and the younger women rushed forward, eager to be free from this detestable room.

Darcie hadn't been one to pray regularly, but now, faced with unknown events, that was the only thing she wanted to do—pray. But she did not. For, though she did believe in God and love him, she did not deem it fair to only pray when against uncertain odds. Darcie would just have to survive on her own, and maybe after, if she did indeed survive whatever the hell was going on, she would pray. But not now.

She stepped out into the light.

* * *

They gathered together in a gladiatorial sized room that was in the lower part of the large clan ship. They sat up high on rows upon rows of benches above a pit that was surrounded by high metal walls. Each and every one gathered roared and pounded their feet against the metal floor bringing waves of sound echoing around them causing them to get even more excited.

Clan Leader Gar'n sat upon a platform surrounded by his advisors who were eagerly waiting for the doors to open and release the women. Early on they had discovered that if they just let the women roam out into the pit, they would still not attack each other even with weapons littered about the arena. This had caused a major stir with all of the Yautja that had gathered who had been itching for violence. The Oomans needed an incentive to fight. Thus, stages were created to get the females used to fighting and killing until it was engrained into their conscious.

Below them all the doors began to open and the women stumbled out eager to be free of the darkness. All of them, aside from the older veterans, glanced about wide eyed, taking in everything and nothing. With a wave of his hand, Gar'n signaled for the final door to open.

It opened slowly, hissing as it slid up into the metal wall. The women watched it anxiously. From the darkness a figure emerged. It didn't move too far into the pit as it was stopped by a long chain. The thing was hunched over, but standing on two legs with its two forelimbs dangling just above the ground. A long head with a glossy black body and a violently swishing tail, it presented a terrifying nightmare. Its mouth opened to reveal one set of snapping jaws and then a tongue like object that had its _own_ set of gnashing teeth. It hissed; its tail moved viscously.

Gar'n signaled again, and the beast was released into the pit…

* * *

A/N: Sorry it's been forever! I started going in a different direction but then I thought: I need to have a little bit of psyche breaking down before the big boom hits. Thus, Monica's view point came into play. Sorry this took forever, and sorry to Ooman who I told this would be up Sunday. But, you can all thank Ooman because without their PM going: It's been forever! This would have probably taken much longer. I'll try to be faster next time!

Just an FYI, during the month of November, do not expect any updates because I will be focusing on nanowrimo (national novel writing month) but I will be back (hopefully) with one more chapter at the end of October and then in December!

Hope you enjoyed it!

~LadyB


	5. Chapter 4

_Humanity:_

"_I had never really thought of death much as a child, I had never really had a reason to. That is, until I saw my grandfather die. Face up in a hospital bed with his eyes glazed over and his heart monitor gave the eerie flat line that signaled his departure. That is my first memory of death."—__Taken from the private journal of Tabatha Dereaux_

There was a brief moment of calm before an explosion of chaos rained down upon the entirety of women that filled the pit. The monstrosity that edged ever closer towards them snapped its massive jaws and hissed at the women. Darcie likened the beast to a large panther; the violently flicking tail and its hisses bringing the image to fruition. But it was no panther. Her subconscious whispered that to her. _It's much, much worse_.

Darcie almost broke her conviction not to pray. She stood frozen like many of the other women, staring straight at the—the _thing_ that swayed on its hind legs with a thick tail flicking from side to side. She could see no eyes on the creature, yet, she was further back than most; it was unlikely that she would be able to make out any detail. Darcie glanced around and tried to pin point Tabatha or Monica or, hell, even the young girl Anne, but she could not see them. The comfort in numbers was gone as she was surrounded by women she didn't know and who didn't care for her. All the women seemed to blur together and create one massive mob of unknown faces and forms; an endless wave of blobs.

Almost suddenly, the creature charged. Its head bowed down and its tail slashing through the air behind it, it charged forward, as if to attack the group head on, but then, at the last moment, changed its course to the left. The lone woman who had been cowering back off to the side had no chance. The creature came barreling towards her with ferocious jaws snapping, jumped into the air with a loud screech, and tackled the woman to the floor where her screams were heard loudly until they died off with a soft gurgling noise. The creature gave a victorious shriek before consuming bits of its prize.

Darcie watched it all, growing sicker and sicker until finally she couldn't take it anymore. She turned her head to the side and wretched up what was left in her stomach onto the ground. None of the other women paid her any mind, however. They were too caught up in their screams and crying and praying. From the side one of the older veterans, the one Tabatha had called Butchy Bitch, came thundering passed the herd of women with a large knife, too big for even her meaty hands, gripped tightly in her grasp. The woman's steps thudded loudly as she charged at the beast that was tearing apart the prey it had claimed. Darcie watched with wide eyes as the big woman barreled forward to attack the creature but was sent rushing backwards to the ground by the beast's thick tail.

The woman landed with a thud and the roar that buzzed loudly in Darcie's ears became louder and louder until she realized that it was not the _thing_ making the noise, but the Yautja's pounding away with their monstrous feet and roaring with thunderous voices. It was terrifying, and the sheer feeling of it all made Darcie feel small.

The creature grew tired of its meal and moved away from it, turning its long, glossy head back towards the group of women that were running to the far side of the pit. Its jaw was covered in the dead woman's blood as it dripped from lower mandibles and spattered to the floor in tiny, bead-like drops. Darcie stood frozen in place as the creature bent lower and hissed. Its tail moved steadily behind it. It dropped to all fours and crawled forward, hissing at every step it took.

Darcie could not move. Fear grasped her with ghostly hands and tightened itself around her throat holding her into place. She watched through wide eyes as the creature moved closer until its snout was mere inches from Darcie's face. It came back up onto its two back legs and it towered over her, looking down at her with what could have been a hungry expression, but Darcie didn't know; the thing had no eyes to lock onto. Blood dripped down the beast's muzzle mixed with thick saliva. It opened its mouth to reveal pearly jaws dripping in its own spit; any sign of the other woman's blood was washed away down the beast's throat and settled in its acidic stomach.

It hissed at her. The sound a strange mixture between a large cat and that of a snake. Its top lip quivered with the sound and Darcie was transfixed by the small movement. Much like a rabbit frozen from shock as the fox snarled down at it, she too was unmoving with her heart beating so loudly that it matched the Yautja's thunderous stomping. It opened its jaws wider and that odd tube-like tongue could be seen resting just behind sharp, dripping teeth. Darcie opened her mouth to scream—

—and as the sound began to crawl up her throat, she was knocked to the ground by the weight of another. Darcie couldn't see, her face was planted firmly on the hard ground, but she felt as the woman—it had to have been a woman—clamored off of her and began tugging at her arms in an effort to lift Darcie from the ground in a panic. Darcie, still in a state between shock and utter terror, complied slowly and turned to face the image of Tabatha. She stood tall before Darcie, acting as a barricade against the beast that hissed and snapped its jaws at them both.

"Tabatha?" Darcie asked as her head began to swim in its own confusion. She vaguely heard her friend yelling at her, but couldn't make it out. And then another blur came, this one unrecognizable to Darcie. It came fast, pushing Tabatha, who was still standing before the beast, to the ground and then shoving a spear—_where had she gotten that?—_into the creature. Darcie tried to remain awake, but she blacked out and darkness was her ally.

* * *

They took her away. Darcie and the other large women who had conquered the beast that had been placed in the pit with them. Took them away and the bitch who called herself Mom had said it was for a medical exam. Tabatha wait anxiously on her cushion for Darcie to return, Monica sat beside her reading. The young woman, Anne was it? She had retired for a few nods of sleep, the fear she and everyone else had experienced had made them emotionally exhausted. Tabatha and Monica were the only two awake at the moment, and they sat silently beside each other; they didn't argue over allusions at the moment.

The beast, whatever it had been, had been killed. That one spear through its chest had not deterred it, but another spear from _Mom_ had settled it to the ground where it collapsed in its own acidic pool of yellow blood. It had screeched and writhed in agony before falling silent. After the beast had fallen silent, so had the Yautja and then two of them came out, carted both the dead creature and the partially eaten woman away. Silence had reigned over them all before a grunt from above and then the two Yautja came back, coercing the females back to their holding room. Tabatha had been unable to wake Darcie, slapping her across the face multiple times had only given the woman a red cheek. So it was up to one of the Yautja to handle her. Darcie's limp form had been draped over his shoulder as he walked, her head swaying and bobbing with each movement.

"What just happened in that hell hole?" Tabatha asked Monica. "Did you see that thing?" Her face was scrunched up as the memories came back once again. "What did they expect that to accomplish? Huh?" It was as close to panic as Tabatha had gotten in a long time. She ran a hand through her hair.

Monica sighed, closing her book; she wouldn't be able to read with Tabatha shooting off every thought that came to her mind. "They expected us to kill it."

"They wanted us to kill _it_? How in the hell were we supposed to do that?" Tabatha's hands clenched.

"There were weapons in the back, far in the back." Monica sat back and stared at the ceiling. "They wanted us to kill it."

"Why on Earth would they want us to do that?"

"I suppose it would be the same reason why millions of humans cram themselves into a dark room with a big screen and watch terrifyingly violent films about a mass murderer slaughtering people." Monica snorted, "For entertainment, of course. It would seem that humans and Yautja aren't very different after all, the urge for violence is in both."

"And don't forget a sense of entitlement." Tabatha smiled to herself in spite of the panic attack that she was on the verge of having. "A very big sense of entitlement. I guess I knew in some way that something like this would happen. I mean, did you see those big, beefy women in there? I've seen men on steroids smaller than them."

Though Tabatha said it in a humorous light, Monica did not laugh; it wasn't far from the truth. "And their scars are a big reminder."

Tabatha's mind conjured up the face of _Mom_ and of the scar that ran along it. She grimaced. "How do you think they got those?" She ran a hand through her hair. "I mean, if they were fighting things like that creature we saw today, they'd have more than a little scar."

"I'd hardly define it as little, but I see your point." Monica closed her eyes, but she didn't rest. She was not tired. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough." There was silence around them for a long while before Tabatha could not take it.

"And yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find, me unafraid," Tabatha whispered to no one person in particular.

Monica, with her eyes still closed, smiled, "I_nvictus_, a poem by William Ernest Henley. A decent choice in poetry. Perhaps you're not completely hopeless." Tabatha snorted loudly and crossed her arms. "You'll have to go a bit less popular in the poetry department if you ever want to catch me by surprise."

"Or maybe you'll just die and I won't have to compete with you, eh?" Tabatha chuckled and soon Monica joined her.

* * *

Jar'ha had arrived just as he said he would, a day after the pit trials had begun. He stumbled off his ship drunk and content with his trophies. His hunt brothers had also been equally as successful and were equally as drunk. Jar'ha stumbled up to his door, pressed in his key code, and then barely had time to make it inside before he collapsed on the floor where he snored peacefully.

His drunken nap was interrupted by a heavy pounding on his door. Still groggy from the countless drinks he had, Jar'ha struggled to push himself up and then stumbled towards the door. He bristled at being awoken and disturbed in his own personal quarters. Jar'ha gave a grunt, opened the door, and growled low at the Yautja who knocked upon his door.

The Yautja at his door dipped his head and gave a grunt before speaking. "Clan Leader Gar'n and the council would like to see you immediately."

Jar'ha growled again, the tresses on his scalp rising, before he huffed and followed the other Yautja as he led him towards where the council and Clan Leader Gar'n would be settled enjoying a meal. The Yautja escorting him knocked on the hard metal of the door and they were both summoned inside.

"Honorable Jar'ha!" Gar'n greeted him loudly over his large cup of cn'tlip. "Come, sit with us." He motioned for a chair to his left, an honorable place for Jar'ha as he was not a part of the council nor was he an arbitrator. Jar'ha sat and one of the servants poured him a large cup, he had had too much already but he would not refuse the cup. His plate was filled with meats red and bleeding and then some that were burnt and cooked thoroughly.

"How was your hunt, Honorable Hunter? I hear your trophies would make your own sire proud." Council member Kor'tect said slowly as he speared one of the softer meats with his large claws.

"I was very successful, Honorable Council Member Kor'tect, as were my hunt brothers." Jar'ha picked at the meat on his plate and took a large gulp from his cup. It was stronger than most, but that was to be expected from cn'tlip that belonged to the council.

"And I hear that you are trying to work your way up towards becoming an Arbitrator, a very honorable feat for a Yautja." Gar'n chortled at him as he said this. To Jar'ha their clan leader was, while getting onward in years, always laid back with whatever was thrown at him. Jar'ha couldn't remember a time he'd seen his clan leader angry enough to rip the head off another Yautja for any slight made against him. No, Jar'ha knew that Gar'n, with all his size and strength, played the game of Yautja politics well.

"Yes, Honorable Clan Leader, it is my goal to achieve." He took a piece of meat and ripped it apart with his tusks before it fell into his mouth. It was rare and blood stained his usually white tusks.

"Your female was placed in the pit last cycle," Kor'tect began. His tone set Jar'ha on edge, but it would have been unwise to challenge him. "She did as was expected of first time females."

Jar'ha made to comment, but Gar'n beat him to it. "I'll have to disagree, Kor'tect." He chortled softly at the rising tresses of said council member. "It's hard to stare down a hard meat." He took a claw and tapped it against one of his tusks as if in thought. "She didn't run away screaming like many of the others; I'd say that's a first."

"Fear paralyzes oomans, females especially," Kor'tect clicked in disdain, "Fear made her stay, not strength." He took a large gulp from his cup and then growled for more.

Gar'n turned to Jar'ha and clicked his large tusks together. "You will watch the next one, will you not, Honorable Jar'ha?"

Jar'ha nodded respectfully, "I will, Honorable Clan Leader. When will the next one take place?"

"Your Ooman female has been deposited back with the others, she had fallen unconscious you see—."

"—more proof of cowardice than courage," Kor'tect said loudly.

Gar'n ignored him, "The next trial will begin next cycle." He speared a piece of burnt meat, Gar'n had always seemed to prefer his meat cooked until the flesh was black, unlike many of his council members and most of the Yautja who were aboard his ship. "I suggest you rest up, Honorable Jar'ha. The next trial will begin early."

Jar'ha knew when he was being excused, so he stood, nodded at the Gar'n and the council members, and left staggering only slightly.

* * *

The women were exhausted. Darcie was tired, she knew Tabatha and Monica were tired, and poor Anne was barely able to move without leaning against Darcie as their feet shuffled along. It would seem that Anne would be a constant in their awkward circle of _friends_. None of Anne's previous companions wanted anything to do with her as it had been made known when they had been allowed to rest a while after the horrifying events of whatever the hell that had been.

Anne had tried to strike up conversation with a group of young women who, despite being scared and anxious about what was to come, were laughing and giggling as if all was well. Darcie, Tabatha, and Monica (though she was more interested in the book between her hands than anything else) had watched as Anne's former friends ignored the young woman's attempts at conversation and eventually moved their group somewhere else. To Darcie, it was heart breaking. Anne had slumped back over to them, defeated, and had not tried to talk to the other women again.

Tabatha had attempted a vague shot of humor by asking if Anne wanted her former friends "accidentally" killed because things just _happened that way sometimes_, but it had not lifted the girl's frown into a smile the way they had wanted it to. Now, as she slumped against Darcie while they made their way down a familiar path, Darcie could feel a few tears drop onto her shoulder, but she did nothing.

She didn't think Anne wanted her too, anyway.

They were separated again. This time Darcie was put in a group with Anne who clinged to her as if she were the last raft and this was the sinking Titanic. Darcie hadn't the heart to shake her off. She noticed that Monica and Tabatha had also been placed together in the same group along with one of the older veteran women. Darcie wondered how that was going.

"Stop touching me," Tabatha told Monica while shrugging away from said woman.

Monica snorted, "I'm not touching you."

"Yes, you are." Tabatha shot out her elbow and it slammed into Monica's side. The latter stumbled from the blow and gave a snarl. Within the next second, Monica shuffled towards Tabatha and punched her in the gut, causing Tabatha to wheeze. "God," the rest was too muffled for anyone else to hear.

"That was touching you," Monica said from the opposite side of the room they had been placed in. The older woman that was with them stood pensively in front of the opening with her beefy arms crossed.

"Hey, beef cake," Tabatha said still wheezing slightly from having the wind knocked out of her. "What's gonna happen now?" Beef Cake said nothing in response, but her muscles seemed to tighten and her feet shifted. "Hey! You were the one that took down that ugly sonna've bitch last time, right?" Nothing. "Where'd ya get the weapon?"

Tabatha's usual façade was falling and Monica could tell that the woman was nervous. It was obvious with the way her southern slang came to the forefront and gave away a Cajun heritage.

The large door opened before Tabatha could continue, and they slowly made their way out of the room and into the hot pit that they had been placed in last time. As the women emerged from their rooms nervously, the thunderous roar of the crow above them hit their ears almost painfully. Monica stared up at them all trying to spot any of her own Yautja, but the crows was so fierce and clustered together that she couldn't tell one Yautja from another. From beside her, Tabatha spoke, but not towards anyone in particular.

The larger door all the way in the front began to edge open painfully slow and all eyes were fixed upon it. It opened all the way, and all was quiet. No roaring from the Yautja, no thunderous stomping, nothing. Silence echoed dangerously throughout the arena.

"It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll." Monica listened to Tabatha's steady voice with that slight southern drawl that was both agitating and calming at once. "I am the master of my fate." A loud trumpeting sound was heard from the dark space behind the open door. "I am the captain of my soul."

A large beast burst forward in a gallop, shaped like that of a rhino but bigger. Its skin was scaled red and black and three large horns in various sizes sat atop its snout. Its tail was barbed with spikes as well. It charged forward into the mass of females. Monica, not wanting to remain idle as she had last time, looked around the large arena and sure enough, towards the back where a few of the older women were heading, was a row of weapons.

"Hey!" She grabbed Tabatha and shook her. When that didn't work, she slapped the woman hard on her face.

"OW! Jesus Christ in Heaven," Tabatha shouted at her. "What the hell's—."

"I need your help," Monica explained. "Or have you never killed an animal before?" Suddenly the large swooshing tail of the beast was upon them and they hurriedly ducked to avoid collision with the dangerous spikes that covered it. They both ran to another side, dodging crying women.

They both huffed as they ran across the arena for the first time realizing how large it actually was towards the weapons that were scattered in the back. "Bitch, please." Tabatha finally answered her. "I've killed more dangerous things than you can blink an eye at."

Monica rolled her eyes and they both kept going.

Darcie and Anne were having their own troubles trying to find their way out of the hoards of women that they were surrounded by. Every which way they turned, they were always among the cluster of crying and screaming women and it was beginning to get too dangerous. Darcie held a tight grip on Anne's wrist and the woman followed her dumbly as they were pushed this way and that and tripped and bumped into and screamed at.

They made it off to the side pressed against the metal wall and gasped for breath. They watched the beast swing its dangerous tail and stomp its large feet. It was surprising no one had died, but the horror had only just started. Darcie knew it would get worse. Someone would _have_ to die. Or that thing would. At the thought, her eyes widened and she whipped her head back and forth until she saw what she was looking for. Towards the back, far in the back and off to the side as if they were trying to hide them in plain sight, were a few weapons. She could barely make out the image of spears and short knives, and ropes. That would have to do. Her eyes found the few figures that surrounded these weapons. The older women were now getting theirs and were heading back out again.

Darcie felt anger grip her for a moment. They had known. They had always known what was going to happen. And they used the other women's ignorance to aid themselves. Darcie frowned and tugged on Anne's arm causing the young woman to stumble forward.

"We're going to kill it," Darcie whispered.

Anne gasped, "_We_?"

"We," and then Darcie pulled her into a full on sprint towards the back pushing aside anybody that got in their way.

* * *

Jar'ha sat amongst his clan brothers high above the pit that housed the screaming females. It was entertaining watching them run away from the beast within the pit. He snorted here and there and stomped his feet waiting for either the beast to finish a few of them off or for the females to do something. His eyes searched for Darcie, but he could not pin point her within the cluster of females.

He snorted and allowed his eyes to drift back to where the weapons were secretly placed. If one were looking for them, they would see them, but oomans, Jar'ha found, were too blinded when it came to fear or anger. They could not see what was given to them and what could help them. It was almost sad to watch, but as his eyes skimmed across the older females who grasped their weapons tightly, he knew the show would become more entertaining.

He was about to continue his search for Darcie amongst the younger women who ran and screamed and hid, when he saw her. She was sprinting, dragging along another younger female with her. Jar'ha sat up in his seat and watched her and then a burst of pride ran through him and he stomped even louder for his Ooman female.

She was headed for the weapons and she was taking another along with her. He grunted in approval and continued to stomp.

* * *

_A/N: I'm back! Whoop! November's over and I am back to write more for Humanity and my other stories. Thank you all for being patient. If there are any mistakes that you see, I've reread it but you never know, please let me know. _

_Oh! Important notice, if you are following Entitlement, even though it's finished, you might get an alert about a few chapters. That's just me editing and adding. I really hated the way I rushed the ending (couldn't stop thinking about it) so it'll be redone. Nothing big, just adding a little more UMPH. _

_Thanks again for reading and reviewing!_

_~LadyB_

_**Edited: 3/12/03**_


	6. Chapter 5

_Humanity:_

"_Tabatha wishes for me to write my sentiments on a tiny slip of a paper in her journal so that it may bring her some form of comfort. Yet, it is hard to write with the pain in my hand and the terrible shaking that moves my pen sloppily across the page. What does she wish for me to write that she has not already written? As I skim through the pages I feel my eyes roll at the supposed prose. So I shall place my mark as well: __**Age has made me wise but no smarter than I ever was**__."—__Taken from a slip of paper inside the private journal of Tabatha Dereaux_

Elder Arbitrator Sahau'k and Arbitrator Hosh'tva remained silent as their ship sliced through the atmospheric layers of the small, Ooman populated planet. Earth. Small, blue, and too cool for either Arbitrator's taste, but this was not a social call nor was it a leisure trip. It had been brought to their attention that a Badblood was on the planet's surface and violating what the Matriarch and her council of females had sanctioned. The Oomans of the tiny, blue orb were not to be hurt while upon the planet. This law, as all laws did, had a loop hole and did not stop males from taking females for their own personal sexual pleasure as well as using them for other entertaining purposes. The Matriarch had even said that the female Oomans could be used as long as they were taken care of. The males were responsible for their proper care, thus, it was expensive to have a pet Ooman female.

Sahau'k wondered if The Matriarch knew about the pit; if she and her council had ever come across the display of Ooman females killing beasts and each other for the enjoyment of the male Yautja crowd. He supposed that she may be upset—they were _females_—but they were Ooman so it did not matter much. What did matter was the badblood upon the planet killing Ooman males without the permission from his clan elder who, in turn, would need permission from the Matriarch and her council. It was a long process to do if you wanted an Ooman and you were not on the list to attend the sacrificial offerings of the Ooman badbloods that were provided every Ooman year.

The Elder Arbitrator, Sahau'k had killed his fair share of Oomans before the planet had been officially claimed. Back then it was considered a primitive hunting ground for more experienced hunters and for the occasional chiva. That was back when discretion was used and that any Ooman witnesses were terminated; back when the hunting had been good and the trophies plentiful. Sahau'k blamed the new Matriarch for their sudden weakness in laying claim to the backwater planet in its pitiful excuse of a galaxy. It hadn't been very long ago when the older Matriarch had been defeated and thus was booted from her position by a younger and stronger female.

It wasn't unexpected; the older Matriarch had lived for longer than even Sahau'k, and that was quite a while. She had reigned for so long that it had almost seemed as if no female was going to challenge her, but, the now Matriarch, Cir'taj, had and killed her opponent by stabbing her through her heart and then ripping the female's spine along with her skull and brain out of her body. She had won, so it had been her right to claim her prize. Which now hung proudly on her trophy wall, Sahau'k was positive. But as strong as Cir'taj was, she was more fascinated by the species that came close—but not—to their own. She had been a so called scientist by trade as well as dabbling in medicine and, of course, being a honorable hunter before she had challenged the Matriarch, and so Sahau'k wasn't surprised when she developed a fancy with the Ooman planet and decided that she wished to keep it.

He was merely put out and agitated, as many males were.

Yautja males were now without a used to be prized trophy to show case to their females. Not that the Ooman skull was much to look at, Sahau'k surmised. But it was more than the skull that used to attract females to the sight of a collection of Ooman skulls, it was the aspect that said Yautja had defeated a being heavily armed (always) and just as violent and cunning enemy as the Yautja male. Hunting was not enjoyable if there was no challenge to it, and Oomans always seemed to bring some sort of challenge. Hunting sentient beings were always a hot item on a trophy wall, and females flocked to males who had the most.

Those days were over. Ooman skulls weren't as highly regarded and if the Matriarch would have had it her way, and didn't have to submit to the council every now and again, then she would have deemed it necessary that all Ooman skulls were to be considered as garbage and to be tossed out to the below decks of each clan ship with the slaves. But the council of wizened females had declared the action too bold a move and that males would only turn on the decree.

Cir'taj was young and ignorant, or so Sahau'k thought privately. She may be strong and appealing and the cause of many females envious stares, but she was stupid. Lifetimes of traditional hunting and courting females with the impressive displays of Ooman skulls were now thrown through the nearest disposal shoot and drifting off into the deep recesses of space. Out of nowhere they had laid claim to the planet without reason other than the Matriarch had deemed it an interest. Sahau'k just hoped that it would be just a phase that the young Matriarch was going though and that she would soon lose interest in the Ooman planet.

"We've arrived," Hosh'tva said from beside him.

"Yes, I know." Sahau'k barked at him, "I have eyes in my head." Thinking upon the current Matriarch and her decisions had made the Elder Arbitrator irritated and the thought of being upon the pitiful Ooman planet was making it worse.

Hosh'tva had said nothing; he released the ramp and allowed the Elder Arbitrator to exit first before he followed. They exited into a small patch of wood that met the edge of an Ooman city. The last place the badblood had been spotted. They spread their mandibles wide, scenting the air, before moving off into the brush. A few paces next had them at the edge of an old Yautja camping site; bones littered the ground along with decaying entrails and the remnants of a hanging skeleton. Sahau'k kicked at some of the decaying organs and grunted.

"It has been awhile since he's been here," he clicked to Hosh'tva who grunted in agreement. Sahau'k growled, thick and graying tube like hair rising. It would seem they had dawdled too long before arriving on Earth and the badblood had taken his leave of this place. Which was odd because a Yautja usually didn't abandon a campsite, once it was established it remained there unless taken over by another Yautja.

"Maybe the hunter spooked him and he based camp elsewhere," Hosh'tva said while picking up what looked to be an Ooman leg bone. The Arbitrator's sharp claws bit into the brittle bone and it snapped in half easily.

Sahau'k snorted and moved around the campsite to look at the skulls that remained. The badblood had left his trophies. He pointed this out to his companion who shrugged.

"Maybe he couldn't transport them."

Sahau'k shook his head and cuffed the other Arbitrator on the back of the head which caused the other bark and tresses to rise. "Idiot. You always keep what you kill. If that had been his primary objective, to hunt Oomans, then he would have come prepared." Sahau'k reached down and picked up a rather large skull of an Ooman male, what was once a worthwhile trophy. "He did not get what he was searching for."

"What is he searching for, then?"

"C'jit," the Elder Arbitrator cursed, "how should I know?" His mandibles splayed in anger at the other who snarled back at him. Hosh'tva looked away first, glancing around the once campsite.

"Where should we go next?" He asked the Elder.

The most logical thing for them to do was to find out if any more recent Oomans had gone missing and if they were of the same build or type as any of the others. The problem was finding this information. Sahau'k knew that there were Ooman arbitrators, or something like them, in every city. But the problem was that Oomans all looked the same. How would he tell one Ooman from the next? Their flat faces all resembles the next one with hardly any variety. Disgusting.

"We should speak to those Ooman arbitrators that have reported the missing Ooman males." Sahau'k crushed the skull in his powerful grip and it crumbled to the ground as if it had been made of clay. "Hosh'tva, do you know which of the Oomans are Arbitrators or not?"

Said Yautja merely shrugged.

"Useless," Sahau'k grumbled to himself. What good were the Arbitrators they recruited in if they could do not but wipe the dribble from their mandibles? Hosh'tva wasn't exactly new at the game, but he was young enough that he had to be placed with a high Elder Arbitrator to clean up after his mistakes should he make any. And he did make mistakes. All new Arbitrators did; it was to be expected.

They began to make their way toward the city. The sounds of various oddities bombarded them as they made it to the edge of the patch of forest and looked out over towards the tall buildings and strange looking vehicles and groups of Oomans scattering about. Sahau'k didn't know where to go, but he wasn't about to tell that to Hosh'tva. With a growl and the shake of his head, tresses playing around him, he cloaked, disappearing from view. His companion followed his example and they stealthily made their way out into the city.

While cloaked, and even uncloaked but that was neither here nor there, the two large Yautja didn't care that they hit Oomans with their large bulk and knocked down males and females as the bumbled down the sidewalk. Their eyes searching for something that they could not identify. They walked for a short while before Sahau'k got frustrated and, still cloaked, latched onto a passing male and yanked him forward. Said male yelped at the unknown force before shaking in fear when the large Yautja uncloaked before him.

"Ooman," Sahau'k clicked at the male. The male nodded quickly; his face white and his eyes wide. "Arbitrators," he clicked out sloppily, "where?" He ended with a high trill.

"Arbitrators?" The male repeated confused at why he was asked this. The young man wracked his brain for the meaning of the odd word that before he pulled out his cell phone, second nature to him, and googled the term with a shaking hand while the other was in the ever tightening grip of the Yautja. Sahau'k didn't understand what the Ooman male was doing, but allowed him to do so. Finally, the young man found the definition and understood, partially, what was being asked of him. "You mean the cops, right?"

Sahau'k's Ooman speak was not the best, and he didn't understand the word _cops_, but he figured that maybe that was the Oomans' title for Arbitrators. He nodded.

"Well, the precinct is located farther into town," the young man said with a stutter to his words. If he lived, he told himself, none of his friends would ever believe him. "You're gonna wanna—." He was interrupted when he was yanked closer and the claws pricked his skin. Onyx thought he felt a few drops of blood begin to form from where the claws were embedded into the skin of his arms.

"Show," Sahau'k barked out. Then he pushed the Ooman off and watched as the male stared at him before nodding slowly.

The young man held his hands up in a defensive gesture, placating the still irritated Sahau'k and his still cloaked companion. "Okay, okay." He licked his lips, "Just follow me and I'll take ya."

They walked, the human in the front with the uncloaked Yautja following closely behind and the uncloaked one trailing after them, keeping an eye on the surroundings. The young man turned to the Yautja. "My name's Onyx, by the way." He forced out. The Yautja looked at him before snorting and looking away. _Ouch_, Onyx thought, _dismissed_. "What's your name?" He then mentally kicked himself for asking such a ridiculous question and hoped he hadn't offended the Yautja who thundered beside him.

The Yautja glanced at him briefly before turning back towards the sidewalk ahead of them. "Sahau'k," he said without another thought. He doubted the Ooman male would have understood his title, so he did not give it. What Ooman respected a title anyway?

Onyx's brow furrowed, "Suh Hawk?" His interpretation of Sahau'k's name made the Yautja growl low and his tresses begin to rise high on his scalp. "Sawk?" The Ooman tried again, and Sahau'k felt his claws embed themselves into the rough skin of his leathery palm. "I guess I'll just call you hoss," Onyx said the a shrug of his shoulders, a lot less nervous now that names had been exchanged. He was still very wary but decided to make the best of things. Maybe even become on the please-don't-take-my-skull-as-a-trophy list. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

"Hoss?" Sahau'k asked while dragging out the 's' sound for far too long. "Means this?"

Onyx smiled, a slight curl of the edges. "Just means friend or whatever." He shrugged.

Sahau'k growled low, "Not friend." Onyx nodded. _Ouch_, he thought again. _Pushed it a little._ He continued to lead without another thought to trying to get to know the Yautja following after him.

* * *

K'rak didn't enjoy watching the females compete in the pit; they were pitiful, weak, and they cried. The liquid leaked from their eyes in supposed sorrow and they whined and yelled out as they were thrown in the pit and forced to duel. It was irritating at best. Their cries, loud and obnoxious, were torturous and head ache inducing; thus, K'rak usually avoided the pit fights. Even though his own Ooman female was placed within the competition he doubted she would survive even with her little experience. She was strong, yes, but K'rak doubted her strength when it came to the pit fights. Their Ooman was lithe, while the few Ooman females that had lasted for as long as they had were built and sturdy. Of course, as Vor'mek was prone to reason, the other females had had a longer time to train, to work towards surviving and obtaining honor. _Give her time, Honorable K'rak, and she will become even stronger._

It didn't placate K'rak, who still hated to go see the females fight their way towards honor and worthiness. If one could call what they did as fighting. K'rak had seen unblooded youngsters spar better while they still suckled at their mother's tit.

But this cycle, Vor'mek had been curious to see the second round; they had heard that their female had survived the very short first round, and Vor'mek wanted to see how their female would fair. K'rak had voiced his opinion on the matter, saying that it was a fruitless endeavor. But he had allowed himself to be coerced into attending and sitting with the masses anyway. And now he sat half-heartedly pounding his feet next to Vor'mek who seemed to be teeming with excitement as he pounded his bare feet loudly and roared for their Ooman who was helping along another female who seemed to be tripping over her own feet. Upon closer inspection, it seemed that she was balancing on tiny stilt like footwear. Strange.

Ridiculous. K'rak snorted loudly while his feet continued to thump with a dull beat. He would never understand Oomans or their odd culture. Their incessant need to question and their lack of honor and of strength. K'rak shook his head; the Ooman males seemed more feminine than anything. And they all looked the same. . . His mandibles clicked in irritation as a smaller Yautja behind him bump the back of his thick skull with his knees from trying to pound the ground too hard. K'rak, already on edge and itching to take out his aggression on another, stood quickly and turned, mandibles spread and roared in the young Yautja's face and then, in one swift movement, knocked the Yautja back where he fell into another burly Yautja. That Yautja then took the smaller one and threw him back forward where he tumbled down into the pit below.

K'rak chuckled and gave out a throaty roar with mandibles spread wide. This might get interesting after all. Vor'mek chuffed from beside him at his comrade's display and went back to watching the women fight against the beast. The Yautja that had fallen and landed in the pit lay motionless on the ground until a female stumbled near him. She began to shake the fallen male.

"You should not have done that, K'rak, it will interfere with the females." Vor'mek said from beside him.

K'rak spread his mandibles and growled low, daring the other to reprimand him again. "I did not push him into the pit; the male had himself thrown in." He chuffed and shook off the other's stare. "If he is hurt then he is not strong enough."

Vor'mek shrugged and his feet continued to pound while K'rak returned to his seat. "Look!" Vor'mek said, "There is our Ooman." He pointed a claw to a figure grasping onto a large chain that was barbed on each link. The Ooman female that was their's was speaking to the same Ooman she had helped along—the one on the stilt like footwear.

"She will be trampled," K'rak grunted.

Vor'mek shook his head, mandibles spread slightly in excitement. "No, I disagree." He let out a chuckle, "I do believe she and the other female will succeed." He leaned in and looked closer, "Isn't that Clan Leader Gar'n's female?"

"The one with the odd footwear and can hardly keep her balance?" K'rak, intrigued, leaned in closer as well. "Most likely. He does enjoy parading her around like a common pet." He cocked his head to the side, "Does he even _use_ her?"

"He does not, from what I hear. He _cannot,_" Vor'mek chuffed before turning to examine their leader's female. "It seems that our females may be well acquainted," Vor'mek said. "That's good, for awhile our Ooman would talk to no one."

"Our Ooman needs no one," K'rak grunted.

They continued to watch as the giant beast began to gallop, faster and faster, over towards their female and Gar'n's. Its head bent down low, exposing its horn, as it ran. Vor'mek stomped louder and roared again, and K'rak, with a twinge of excitement rushing through him, stomped a little louder as well.

* * *

Officer Bradley had thought he had seen it all after fifteen years serving as a member of the BRPD. He had seen murders, had successfully accomplished drug busts, had seen domestic disputes, rapes, assaults, battery, car wrecks, one high speed chase (that hadn't lasted that long to begin with), and one serial killer. Bradley had seen mangled bodies, beaten wives, fearful prostitutes, and enraged gun men.

His partner who sat in the desk next to him and who was still wet behind the ears, was just starting his first official day with a patrol coming up that the two would do; Bradley would show him the ropes. But, as they heard the doors crash open, the sound of thudding, heavy feet echoing through the halls towards them, they seemed to know that today would be a first for them both. The two officers stared in horror as they saw the large Yautja approaching them with a grinning young man at their heels.

Bradley barely managed to cover his stutter, "H-how can we assist you, today. . .sir?"

* * *

_A/N: I got a review asking to delve deeper into the Yautja, and so that's what I'll be doing more of in the chapters to come while still focusing on the women. Y'all thought I forgot about that badblood I bet! Well, I didn't, and he's still out there, and our two resident badblood hunters are going to get him. . .or die trying. ;)_

_~LadyB_

**_Edited: 2/12/13_**


	7. Chapter 6

_Humanity:_

"…_**crying myself to sleep at night doesn't bother me unless someone is around to hear it."—**__**Taken from the private journal of Tabatha Dereaux.**_

_She shot up from the comfortable sheets of her bed and screamed; hot, fat tears rolled down her face as she heaved for breaths that would not come. Her dark hair clung to her scalp sopping with the sweat from her body. Though the fan spun rapidly above her head, she was terribly hot. The sheets below her were wet as well. She turned the lamp on her nightstand on and looked at her hands and rubbed them together. They were clean. The blood that had stained them ages ago was gone leaving only a ghostly feeling of the warm, sticky residue._

_Her eyes darted around the room and took in all that appeared to be normal. A dresser, a closet, books, and a door that led further into the house. Her breathing slowed slightly, but her hands continued to rub together. Her arthritis was acting up again. She heard a creaking and jumped when there was a knock on the door. _

_"Hey," came the wizened voice from the other side. "What the hell's a matter with you? I'm trying to sleep." _

_She frowned and flipped off the figure on the other side of her bedroom door, her mood slightly better. "Oh, mind your own damn business." There was a pause and then, finally, a scoff from the other side of the door. Then she could hear the padding of retreating feet back down the hallway to her friend's respective room. She would not tell her companion of the nightmares she was plagued with; her friend already knew and suffered from her own terrifying thoughts._

_The nightmares—the horrid images of women slaughtering _things_, creatures and then, finally, each other. They came to her vividly in the night and she could do not but endure them and hope for morning to come. She leaned over and shut the light off and lay still in the darkness. She knew if she closed her eyes that her sleep would be plagued with the faces of the ones she failed and of the women she had intentionally destroyed for her own survival. _

_A sob escaped her throat and then another. She tried to hold them back, she didn't want her friend to hear, but as the images flickered like a silent movie across the expanse of her mind, the tears and sobs returned. Her shoulders shook and her breathing was ragged. In an effort to dull the sound of her sorrow and horror that mixed into a dangerous cocktail, she pushed her face into her pillow and hoped that the soft cushion would swallow the sounds of her anguish. _

_She knew her friend could still hear her. Even with their old age, both women were far too aware of the other to not be able to hear. Her friend wouldn't comfort her just as she wouldn't comfort her friend should she hear her in the night. It was just an unspoken rule. _

_She turned back over, her sobs finally diminishing, and closed her eyes and began to dream once more. _

Monica gripped the thick chain tightly and looked back at Tabatha who was wobbling on her feet while she looked around the chaos induced arena for Darcie. But it was hard to pinpoint any one woman within the mass hysteria and the giant beast lumbering around chasing after the large women that tried and failed to spear it down. Its hide was just too thick. The thing bellowed and charged towards them and Monica jerked the chain trying to get Tabatha's attention.

"Hey!" She yells and Tabatha jumps and looks at her and then at the charging beast growing closer rapidly. Monica motioned to the chain in their hands. "You know what to do?"

Tabatha snorted and gave a hysterical kind of laugh, "Would it save a lot of time if I just gave up and went mad now?"

Monica looked away from her and focused on the creature barreling towards them. "I told you, you stupid idiot, to pick an allusion with less popularity." Both women spaced out a bit from each other with their eyes on the monstrous beast. The chain in their hands clinked against the metal of the ground. "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," Monica shouted while Tabatha rolled her eyes before both women charged forward.

They didn't make it far before one of Tabatha's heels gave out and crack in half. Said woman cursed and fell over pulling Monica with her.

"You idiot!" Monica yelled from the ground. "Why the hell do you even wear those?" She never got an answer before the thundering gallop of the beast was closing in, drowning out Tabatha's snarky reply. Monica jumped out of the way just in time as the beast plowed through a young woman caught in its destructive path. The beast pounded into the corpse with its monstrous feet and roared.

Both women stumbled to their feet and picked the chain up once more. Other women, those who were not running around screaming, began to attack the beast again with no results. Tabatha looked down at the chain that was barbed ever few links. "Okay. So what if we bring it down," she said to Monica, "what then? Getting it down is the easy part, it's keeping it down."

Monica's eyes darted around as she tried to come up with a way to slash at the animal's thick skinned neck. She watched as a few other women came at the beast to slash it across the throat only to have the knife merely graze the skin.

"The knives they gave us aren't strong enough to cut its skin," Monica said, her eyes bounced from woman to woman then to the beast and then the surrounding area.

"Well, no shit," Tabatha bit out.

_Ms. Mona,_ a voice whispered cautiously into Monica's ear. _Ms. Mona, look over there._ Monica turned to look beside her and was awarded the sight of the ghostly visage of Lucille. Her mind was tormenting her again. Not that it had ever stopped, but the pain had considerable lessened since she had awoken on the ship. The images from the Amazon and of the woman who had trusted her with everything had all but vanished. But here was her mind again, throwing the pain and the hurt back at her with considerable force.

_Look, look, look, Ms. Mona._ Monica's eyes followed the arm of Lucille and saw the motionless form of a Yautja. In all the excitement they had forgotten he had fallen into the pit. _He had blades_, Lucille whispered to her. _Better blades, stronger blades._ Monica thought about it. One of them would have to run across and grab something that they could use to kill the thing trampling about the pit while the other would have to distract it.

"Are you a good runner?" Monica asked Tabatha who was taking off her broken heels and tossing them aside. Tabatha grimaced at the metal beneath her feet and then at the inch difference between the two of them.

"Yeah, I guess." She stood on the tips of her toes and tried to get her head above Monica's—it didn't work.

"Would you rather be the clown or the wrangler?" Monica gave a small smile.

Tabatha moaned, "Can't I just be the audience?" She wiggled her shoulders about, loosening them, and then gave a snort in Monica's direction. "If I'm going to be anybody in this rodeo, I'm going to be the clown. Just make sure you don't screw this up and I won't end up getting the shit stomped outta me." She didn't wait for a sarcastic response, taking off in the direction of the giant beast while waving her arms about as she hollered loudly.

"At least she'll put that loud mouth to good use," Monica chuckled softly before she took off in the opposite direction. The apparition of Lucille following here while humming a familiar tune that made Monica shiver.

* * *

Gar'n watched as his female pet made a ridiculous spectacle of herself, waving her arms around and yelling loudly, shoving women aside, and jumping up and down. At first he was confused about her behavior, why would she want the beast's attention on her? Gar'n was not ignorant, he knew the large mammalian beast, the Rik'et, was a ferocious animal when provoked—and they _had_ provoked it before letting it loose into the pit—so why was his pet calling for its attention when she stood no chance of killing it? She had no weapons on her, and she was not physically capable of going toe to toe with the beast, it was far too large.

But it was a good thing Clan Leader Gar'n was an attentive and skilled Yautja. Not only had it helped with his performance in hunting and moving up in the ranks of leadership, it had also helped him in various political aspects. Finding weaknesses in others and exploiting them to his own advantage was all due to his keen eye and relentlessness. So when his eyes drifted across the arena from his pet to that of another, he chuckled causing a few of his clan council members to glance away from the events of the females and to their clan leader.

Kor'tect, his chief advisor, bristled and grunted in his leader's direction. "What has you so amused, Clan Leader Gar'n?"

The Clan Leader chuckled more heartily and shook his head, his graying tresses adorned with a multitude of golden rings clinking together. "Merely observation, Honorable Kor'tect. Nothing you need to worry about."

The chief advisor grunted, "If it's about the ridiculous display your pet is making, I'd say it's worth a good laugh." Kor'tect expected his clan leader to be angered by his blatant rudeness, but it seemed that his clan leader wasn't paying attention to him and his comments, merely watching his female and the others with amusement.

Kor'tect found nothing amusing about the display or of the other females who cried and screamed and ran in circles to avoid the beast.

"We'll have to bring the Rik'et back in soon less all the females perish under its feet." He said aloud to the clan advisors and to his leader. But his leader merely chuckled again and waved him away, dismissing him and his idea which caused Kor'tect to bristle.

"I do believe you doubt the will of some of these females, even your own," Gar'n said with a shake. "You hold them in contempt."

Kor'tect growled low and his tresses rose; his mandibles close to spreading wide and releasing a roar, but he reigned himself in and held back the urge to challenge his clan elder and leader right there before all the others—now was not the time. "They cannot defeat the beast; their weapons won't allow for it." He motioned with a hand towards the chaos that was below them. "This was done to prepare them for the real trial and to weed out the undesirables _not_ for them to acquire a trophy."

Gar'n chuckled again and watched the females. His eyes fell upon his female, the one who was so ornery and rebellious and so blatantly unused to authority, and then moved to her companion, the one shared by three, and then moved to Jar'ha's pet who was being followed by a tag along that he could not place a Yautja to. "You see very flatly, Kor'tect." He looked at his chief advisor and spread his mandibles in a show of dominance. His tresses rose and the golden rings clinked together, giving a deadly rattle to the image that was this Yautja. Kor'tect held the stare not a moment longer and looked away. Gar'n chuffed at him and looked back to the females below. "You have to look past the weakness of the Ooman female body—and you are right, they are weak—and see the same cunning that the males' have."

"Same?" Another advisor trilled. "Surely not?" Even the males of the Ooman race were weak in comparison to that of a male Yautja, but they still gave somewhat of a worthy challenge and were excellent game to hunt.

Gar'n huffed, "The physical aspect of males and females differs from species to species, but their minds are usually programmed the same when it comes to certain areas." He shook off his robe and tossed it aside where it landed on the ground with a heavy thud. "Oomans, male or female, have one desire that supersedes procreating," and to this all the other snorted, for that was all Oomans seemed to do. They had no other ambitions other than that of overpopulating their planet with their squalling young. (Though this was not seen as hypocritical for Yautja didn't view themselves in the same light as humans). "Their one true desire is to survive—in that aspect, all Oomans are equal because what honorable being _wants_ to perish?"

The others went silent and focused on the females.

* * *

_She awoke again with her heart beating rapidly as if it were trying to escaped from its prison within her ribs and disappear into the night. She clutched at her chest and tried to calm her jumpy nerves. They were only dreams. Only memories that her mind just wouldn't let her forget, as if it was hesitant to leave behind that which had affected it so much. _

_A few tears escaped the corners of her eyes and traveled down the wrinkles of her face. She brought her hands up to scrub at her face. She wanted to go and seek comfort from her friend, she wanted the old woman to tell her that it would all be all right, but she didn't rise from her bed and do anything of the sort. _

_Instead, she lay on her back and gazed up at the ceiling. She probably wouldn't get anymore sleep tonight. But maybe, if she tried hard enough, her mind would recall the happier times. The moments before the fighting, before the pit, and, maybe, the few good moments she had while trapped on the ship. There weren't many, but as her eyes began to droop, she found that she couldn't quite care. _

_As she was about to fall back to sleep—and for that, she was so thankful—when something pounced onto her stomach causing her to arch upwards. She hissed and grabbed at the thing on her chest but it jumped nimbly out of her reach and padded out of the room. "Goddamn cat," she screeched._

_From down the hall she thought she could hear the laugh of her friend and she sneered before turning over and falling to sleep. _

Darcie and Anne fumbled past the other women, pushing them aside and skirting the bodies of dead others. Anne gripped Darcie's clothing tightly and stumbled after her all the while whimpering and pleading with the obviously suicidal woman that this was a terrible idea and that they should stay put in the shadows. But Darcie couldn't sit out like she wanted to. She couldn't hide away like her subconscious was whispering to her.

She couldn't be a coward now. Darcie's lips trembled as they passed a dead young woman whose eyes were wide and dead. No. She couldn't do what she wanted so desperately to do. Jeremy flickered across her mind, the image of his corpse flung across the wall so vivid and terrifying, but yet, it did not make her sad. Darcie just couldn't muster up the energy to feel sorrow for the man she had thought she knew.

Anne tripped and stumbled into the back of her. The young woman caught herself and mumbled an apology. Darcie paid her no mind, already distracted with the spectacle that was Tabatha Dereaux.

"My God," she whispered, "she's absolutely crazy."

"Who?" Anne asked, "Who is?" Darcie could only point at her friend who was content to jump up and down on bare feet while waving at the beast and hollering for its attention. Anne gasped loudly, "Why is she doing that?"

Darcie gave a desperate laugh and shrugged her shoulders before her eyes caught the familiar build of Monica. "I think I know," she glanced back at Anne. "I need you to stay out of the way. Stay here and stay hidden."

"But where are—?" She didn't get to finish, Darcie was already gone.

Monica jumped over a crying woman whose leg was twisted in a terrible position. She reached out to Monica in desperation, but the other woman ignored her pleas. Lucille, poor pitiful Lucille who died without seeing her child, stopped and gave the crying young woman a guilty look before moving on. Monica stopped beside the fallen Yautja and tried to turn him over.

She gave a huff, but the big guy was just too heavy. Lucille stood beside her with her transparent face full of worry. _I'm sorry I'm not much help_, she said.

Monica snorted, "You were never much help, dead or alive or as a memory." She tried again and heard the Yautja give a groan. She cursed silently and tried again while Lucille gave a giggle. "If you're not going to be helpful then go the hell away!" She bit out.

"I just got here," came a familiar voice behind her. Monica dropped the little weight of the Yautja she had managed to lift and spun around. Darcie was huffing for breaths after seemingly sprinting from her spot across the arena. "I came to help."

Monica stared wide eyed at Darcie, studying her intently. She then spun and looked to the side where her mental tormenter, Lucille, had just been—but she was gone. Monica took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Where the hell have you been?" She asked returning to trying to turn the Yautja over. Darcie came to her side and helped with trying to move the Yautja.

"I lost sight of you and Tabatha when y'all had the chain," Darcie said with a grunt as she pushed. "Anne and I were heading towards the spears when I saw Tabatha again."

The pushed and got the Yautja over onto his back where he groaned again. His eyes were still closed but his mandibles clicked together slowly. Monica began to fumble around in search of his weapons.

"Those spears can't pierce that thing's skin," Monica said as she searched. "They purposefully gave us garbage weapons to play with while they watched." At his side, strapped tightly to his hip in a thick leathery hide, were two large disks. Monica pulled them out and examined them. Sharp razors surrounded the circle of metal; Monica took her finger and barely touched the razor to her skin. Immediately she began to bleed tiny droplets of blood. They fell to the ground softly. "This will do," she said with a smile.

"Why did they give us weapons that were useless?" Darcie asked.

"So that we'd die," Monica said while standing to her feet. Darcie followed suit. "This isn't a fair trial, Darcie." Monica held Darcie's gaze, her face hard. "There's no such thing as fair play," the woman grinned at this. "But," she glanced up at the rows of Yautja above them, "that also means there's no such thing as cheating either."

* * *

Tabatha had had better days. Better days being days where she didn't even have to get up from her bed because there was just nothing she had to do. _Those_ were much better days, but she had had worse days than this. If she was being perfectly honest with herself, running from a raging beast was ten times better than being on a date with Mathew Dyke—who was a complete bore to talk to. Of course, she rather not be trying to distract this monster of a rhino on steroids.

The thing lost interest in her dance of waving arms and jumping and turned to bellow loudly at one of the beefy women who seemed content to just throw spears at the things head. Shit. She needed to keep its attention on her.

"Hey!" She yelled while running around to face it, "Ugly!" On the ground was one of the discarded spears and she picked it up, yelled, and threw it. She hadn't really expected it to land anywhere or even hurt it (she really hadn't thought it could be hurt by these dull bladed spears). She had only wanted its attention back on her again, but when the beast's head turned at the last moment, its eye coming into the spear's ongoing path, Tabatha could only watch with more horror than pride as the spear lodged itself into the soft tissue of the beast's eye causing it to let out a horrifying screech of pain before it caught her it its sight.

"Oh, shit," she said before turning and sprinting across the arena. "Shit. Shit. Shit." The beast trampled the ground behind her with ever gaining speed. Tabatha's eyes darted around in search of Monica, but she couldn't find her; her mind wasn't working properly and while she saw things, she couldn't quite determine what they were exactly.

She urged her legs to move faster, pushing herself to keep moving because the beast was getting closer and closer. Tabatha took deep breaths and pushed herself even harder. She immediately regretted not being in better shape and cursed her own laziness in skipping out of going to the gym, putting it off for another day. In her haste to get away she was not paying much attention to the objects on the ground, she only wanted to move farther away—her bare foot stepped on something sharp and Tabatha cried out in agony. She made it a few more feet before she collapsed to the ground with the bottom of her foot bleeding heavily.

She looked up and only saw the beast's thick body and braced herself for the deadly impact.

* * *

Gar'n almost stood from his seat to get a better look at his pet Ooman who was now on the ground bleeding from her foot. Wounded and fallen, Gar'n knew that she would be trampled and it made him growl low. The thought of calling the trial off and taking her out of harm's way came to mind, she was such an interesting pet, but he could not. How would it look to his subordinates if he showed such weakness in front of them? He would be challenged, and, depending on how many challenged and what rank they were, he would probably lose. His skull on the winner's trophy wall.

Kor'tect looked at him briefly and gave a snort, "It's a shame, Honorable Clan Leader, that your pet will die so soon." He gave a shake of his large head, "And this being your first female Ooman and all, pity."

Gar'n's tresses rose and he turned to roar in his Chief Advisor's face just to prove his dominance over him, when he stopped. The screech of the beast was heard loudly throughout the arena—all were silent. There was no more stomping, no more roaring for more, no more screaming. There was only the screech of the beast, a heavy thud, and then utter silence. He turned back towards the pit below and stared transfixed at the scene.

The beast had fallen to the ground and was now bleeding out onto the floor, dead. Its throat cut. A few of it limbs twitched, but it wouldn't be moving much longer. Not far from it, on the floor and drenched in the beast's blood, was his Ooman female clutching her wounded foot and heaving deep breaths. She was covered in the red blood of the beast making her a big red dot on the gray flooring of the pit. Gar'n looked over and watched as the Ooman female, owned by the three Yautja (K'rak being one of them), walked over towards his own female, hefted her up with one hand and used the other to raise her weapon of choice while giving an odd gesture towards the Yautja seated above(Gar'n knew it to be a rude gesture in the Ooman culture).

"Where did she get that!?" Kor'tect shouted at them. "That was not in the weaponry for the Ooman females!" His chief advisor seethed in his seat, tresses raised and rattling together.

Gar'n ignored him and stood, moving towards the edge of his raised platform and looked down at the women. He stared at his own Ooman covered in blood, trying to shake it from her hands while the red flicked towards the ground (it didn't help rid the substance from her body, though), Honorable Jar'ha's female who stood beside her, and then the victor, the one owned by the three swelled with a certain amount of pride. He saw the older, more experienced Ooman females watch her cautiously and the other women sigh in relief at the beast's demise. He saw all of this from his perch.

The clan leader then began to laugh.

* * *

**_A/N: Where the hell have I been? I've been very lazy :(_**

**_Annnd I've had a bit of writer's block. Major suckage but I'm back. This chapter hasn't beem heavily edited so please excuse mistakes until I can come back and fix em._**

**_So, R&R_**

**_~LadyB_**


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